Down in the Southern Highlands of New South Wales where we live, there is a big, beautiful property next door to us, owned by a charming couple. Michael and Eleonora Triguboff are both environmentalists and they both love the arts, so we get on really well with them. When they first bought the place, long before they started spending time down there, I asked if it would be all right if I could walk through their property with my dogs, Snoop Dog and Oliver. Those boys loved running wild through there, chasing anything that moved. They never caught a thing, but they liked pretending they were hunters.
The Triguboffs’ property encompasses a fabulous garden with beautiful trees and a large area of natural bushland, so at any time of the day you could see kangaroos and wallabies hopping around. It was a great place to walk, especially when we had guests from overseas staying with us. My American friends in particular thought it was amazing that we lived in a place where you could see those animals all day. Being the nice people they are, our neighbours never seemed to mind our visits. In fact Eleonora said to me one day, ‘It’s nice that you walk on our land so that the place feels lived in.’
So I did for many years. And we talked whenever they came down, and got to know each other better. Eleonora had been the publisher of Art + Australia magazine and was highly respected in the art world and we had mutual friends, including Ben Quilty, a fantastic artist who had painted me for the Archibald Prize. Eleonora had been one of the judges of the prize.
After a while, the Triguboffs invited us to dinner at their home in Sydney with a bunch of their good friends from the art world. I was, as usual, mid-tour and was very busy and tired, but we liked them so much we agreed to join them.
We were made to feel at home as soon as we walked in. I couldn’t help but notice that the house was full of beautiful paintings and sculptures. It was like a gallery.
Dinner was served and we were taken into the dining room to sit down. On the walls around the large, oval table, intriguing artworks were tastefully lit, and a light in the centre of the room hung low, creating a warm, intimate feel. Eleonora had evidently planned the seating to prompt some interesting conversations. I was placed between a man who I think was one of the main art buyers for Sotheby’s in London and Gretel Packer, daughter of Kerry Packer, and a successful businesswoman and patron of the arts in her own right. Both were charming and friendly.
Everyone in the room clearly knew a lot about art – except me of course. So I sat there trying not to say too much, as I knew that would just reveal my ignorance. But the gentleman next to me kept trying to include me in the conversation. I think he knew I was uncomfortable.
‘So, Jimmy, tell me,’ he said, ‘what do you look for in art and have you purchased very much at all? If you are in the market, I could help you. I would love to be of assistance.’
I wasn’t sure what to say. In the end I decided to speak from the heart and not the head. ‘I really don’t know a lot about art as such, but I do own a few pieces. I only buy what I really like. If something moves me, then I think it’s good and might try to buy it. It doesn’t matter if it’s by a master or a beginner.’
To my surprise the man from Sotheby’s replied, ‘I totally agree with you, and it sounds to me like you know a lot more than you realise.’
Now, I had really only formed my opinions on art by listening to my Jane. She always told me if you like it, appreciate it; if you don’t, move on.
The conversations from that point on were friendly and entertaining, and the dinner was a lot of fun. But after the dessert was served I gave a little nod to Jane to signal that I needed to go home.
Jane announced, ‘We would like to thank you, Michael and Eleonora, for inviting us here to dine with your lovely friends, but I’m afraid Jimmy has been touring incredibly hard and I need to take him home to rest.’ And with that she stood up.
I did the same and reached for my jacket on the back of my chair. But as I put my arm into the sleeve, I heard a smashing sound and something that looked like glass shattered and fell all over Gretel Packer’s head and shoulders. It was only then that I noticed the exquisite sculpture hovering above the table like a ghost. The low light and my bad eyesight had stopped me from seeing it – up to the moment when I put my arm right through the middle of it.
The table fell silent. Then the sound of art critics gasping for breath filled the air. No one said a thing. They just sat, mouths wide open, looking straight at me.
I dusted the broken pieces off Gretel’s shoulders and tried to get them off her head without ruining her hairdo as well.
Then I did the only thing I could do. I excused myself. ‘Well, goodnight everybody. That was a great meal, and what fabulous company. I hope we all meet again.’
And I walked out the door. Not a word about the sculpture.
In the hallway, though, I immediately apologised to Michael and Eleonora, who had followed us out. ‘I am so sorry. I didn’t see it. Was it made of fine glass or something? It was so hard to see.’ I was almost hysterical.
Michael tried to calm me down. ‘Don’t worry, Jimmy. It will all be fine and, no, it’s not glass; it’s made of salt. I will get it fixed in no time.’
With that, I said sorry a few more times and we left. Jane and I hardly said a word the whole way back to the Southern Highlands.
When I got home, I had a stiff drink to calm my nerves while I worked on a long, apologetic email to Michael and Eleonora. This is what I ended up with:
Hi Michael and Eleonora,
Jimmy here. I have only now worked up the courage to contact you and apologise for not only trashing one of your pieces of art, but also for trying to talk seriously to your friends about art, life and the whole universe. I am a singer, and my life is singing, and trying to get to people’s souls as basically and as honestly as possible. Art is way too deep for me. Unless you can wear it and change it and let it evolve in front of me. Which brings me to my goodbye the other evening. So sorry about that, I should have warned you that I am the clumsiest man in the world. I quite like the new piece, though, and I sincerely hope you guys and the artist do too. If not, I expect to be killed by a falling statue or a wayward paintbrush that has been thrown from a car moving at high speed by an artist (not anyone in particular) rushing to an exhibition of the newest art form in years – DEVOLUTION – which I started at dinner and perfected when I went home. I worked on a painting for hours and by the time I finished there was nothing on the canvas. So pure.
Fancy lunch, this time at my gig, and you can all sing?
I loved your friends and was honoured to be at your beautiful house. If you need any more work done on any of your pieces, please call.
Love and pleading for forgiveness,
Jimmy xx
PS Has anyone painted a scream yet? If they have, I’d be the last to know, as I am deaf in one ear and am seriously thinking of cutting off the other. I hate symmetry.
Saints that they are, the Triguboffs replied:
Dear Jimmy,
Please don’t worry about your artistic involvement. Like you, we think the piece has improved.
We very much enjoyed having you and Jane over for dinner and look forward to seeing you both more often.
Warm regards,
Eleonora and Michael