Thoroughly Modern at the Museum of Sydney
Rather insistent ticket lady breaks the scam. No longer able to ride the Tickets Through Time with blank dates on their faces. Time starts now, three months and counting. Seven months since the first visit.
Buzzing with a jazzy scratch of the old 1940s, the long room featuring the Thoroughly Modern Sydney exhibition smells of nothing. Absolutely void of any sense outside the historic visuals and tinny sounds.
Glorious glamour shots face the awnings and gateways. Names of visionaries and the big wigs jump off the copy on the plaques like Frank Hurley, Norman Linsday and Harold Cazneaux.
Not much in the way of change through the photos. A lot of what Sydney is today similar to their grandiose plans and blueprints. Save for the gardens that wither away and die with the ravages of time.
Taking a breather to time it just right, a little wander toward the Speaker's Corner of the Museum sees a white haired man in white suit, Steve Maxwell, jump up on the soap box to deliver his Sunday thought. The long room of twenty milling people disappears down to the two sitting intently.
Back in and reading the paint on the wall reveals nothing major. No hidden messages about the future past or soft big idea from history.
Tuesday, 1 August 2006
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Previous entries on Freeload
- Trinket expedition at the Careers Expo
- An Unbroken View at the State Library
- Melting on the vinyl score board
- On the straight edge with the Flying Doctors
- Goats are the greatest of all time
- For the fight for human rights
