From my sister Chris Tammer

The other day I received an email from my sister Chris which included some recent watercolours she has been occupying herself with.

MUGS

These were all “still life” images of plants or objects she has found at home.

ORCHID

What struck me as most unusual is that Chris had never really explored drawing or painting before, although she may have wanted to do so. In her email she explains how she came to this new phase of her life.

Dear Peter,

As you know, years ago I met a prospective partner who ran a 

restoration/conservation business.

This was at a time when I was studying music at a TAFE level and was the 

happiest I’ve ever been in my whole life. I was applying to attend the Latrobe 

music composition course. The prospective partner was going through a 

phase where she was losing staff but receiving more and more offers 

for work. Tenders for the Princess Theatre, ANZ Gothic bank, in Melbourne, 

and Labassa, the Italianate house house in Caulfield, to name a few.

When she asked me to come and work with her, two things went through my mind.

1. I’ve waited all my life to finally immerse myself in music and follow my 

dream, and now you want me to give it all up to come and work for you.

2. I have never painted anything but a wall in my life. What makes 

you think I’d be able to mix colours, paint within the lines and 

know anything about art or other things you do?

Very long story short.

I gave up my life’s dream and went to work with her at Labassa. 

Climbing a scaffold was the first hurdle I had to jump, even before

 I could even think about sitting on this wobbly, cold, metal structure, adding 

minuscule dots of the correct colour to the ceilings and walls of these 

hand-painted/stencilled age-old, artisans’ surfaces.

I finally went back to study at an adult level in 2008. This was at a private college 

called MIECAT. It was an art therapy undergrad course. I was immediately thrown 

into a place mixing with people who could make colours and movements of their 

hands produce truly beautiful things at a swift stroke of the hand. I felt like I did 

not fit in at all, but I worked on my projects using a mix of basic art, and 

music or sound as a therapeutic mode of finding meaning.

It was fun. It was interesting. 

And I was by now being commissioned to composed 

music for film, theatre and circus. All the while I was running my 

own hairdressing business. But always in the back of my mind was the 

thought, “I wish I could have the time to explore drawing or painting. 

I’m sure I would get okay at it, even if I did not at first succeed.”

 

Cut to 31 years later.

A diagnosis of 4th stage Metastatic Breast Cancer.

Serious.

Palliative.

All over red rover.

“Not long.”

 

I’ve spent many an hour thinking about what I really want to spend these, 

the last years, months or days of my life, doing. I tried crochet but I was 

experiencing acute pain in both hands and couldn’t go on with it. I tried 

composing music again but I couldn’t seem to think straight and 

feel the desire like I used to.

 

A few of my friends are incredibly artistic. Really artistic.

They know how to fit a scene into a square or oblong sheet of paper.

Fran, who like me, has put her artistic self aside for a long time, started 

sending me photos of watercolours. I have always loved the washiness 

of this medium. 

Fran was making these amazing little scenes of found broken shards of crockery.

She moved on to still life cups, vases, then flowers and fruit. She has become

prolific. I’m talking one to two paintings a day. She suggested I go over

to her house between lockdowns early this year. Really. Please don’t ask

me which one! I live in Melbourne for God’s sake! It was early this year.

 

I did a really bad rendition of a shard of crockery. 

 

Then, the same day, I painted a pomegranate.

 

 

POMEGRANATE

Oh my pride! My old me would say I was not proud. But my brother said

“No need for humility Chris, and no apologies”. So I will tell the truth.

I am so excited by this creation. One and a half hours sitting with my

friend and making this just fell on to the page. I cannot tell you how

exciting it feels.

 

The rest is history. 

Not! 

It’s now. It’s how I live. 

I wake up thinking about it. 

I go to sleep thinking about it. 

I watch and search YouTube, Pinterest, Instagram for

ideas, lessons, pictures and ideas.

 

 

PEAR

I see shadows and colours and feel the brush move across this

incredibly textural paper made of cold pressed cotton.

LEAF

For months I would not paint on good paper as I thought I didn’t deserve to

“waste” it. But I still went ahead and bought it, and good paints and brushes.

Mostly online of course, because of our many lockdowns. 

I’ve set up my studio area in my kitchen so I can go there anytime I want.

All the time if I want. I love being in lockdown. I don’t have to do anything else.

I can spend time in my own world. And I’m starting to use beautiful paper. 

 

Poppies are Popping

I feel that the brush with watery, colourful or muted paints 

not only makes my dreams come true with each stroke, 

but it’s like a caress of the page. Not just a sweep of it.

The Sick Rose

This painting reminded me of William Blake’s wonderful poem

“The Sick Rose”

O Rose thou art sick. 

The invisible worm, 

That flies in the night 

In the howling storm: 

Has found out thy bed

Of crimson joy:

And his dark secret love

Does thy life destroy.