There are other cities with trams, for sure. There are other tram networks. But this one is ours. Oh, and it also happens to be the longest in the world. The world… All through the city you can hear them, clattering along all day and most of the night. They are as much a part of Melbourne as, well, the other 15 icons that have featured in the latter part of this project.
(Sharon’s slightly older model tram is on her blog here.)
Flinders Street Station is busy… always so busy. Day or night is just the same, a blur of bodies and movement and stories and lives that goes on and on forever. This station has seen it all, and keeps seeing, through darkness, light, rain, fog. This is Flinders Street; this is Melbourne’s heart, and eyes.
(Sharon’s interpretation of Flinders Street Station is on her blog here.)
Apparently the original design of the Arts Centre called for this spire to be wrapped in sheets of metal. It would have been a very different structure had this happened… instead, we have a structure that suggests rather than prescribes form, that evokes and provokes imagined shapes. In many ways, then, we have a structure rather like the arts housed within it…
(Sharon’s interpretation of the Arts Centre Melbourne is on her blog here.)
For over a hundred years, he’s stood guard at the entrance. Most days, he’s benevolent, and swallows up all who would seek to enter, only to disgorge them later, back onto the streets of St Kilda. Some days, like today, it’s a false promise, leaving us to stand and stare through the metal grill, imagining what could have been, and what has been, and what may be…
(Sharon’s interpretation of Luna Park is on her blog here.)
Once upon a time, there was an icon of Melbourne – it was a shot tower, and stood above all of the surrounding buildings. Over time, either it shrunk, or the buildings around it just got taller, until it was almost invisible. And it began to shiver, because the next step was all but inevitable – the wrecking ball, and then ruin, and then oblivion.
But this tower had a different fate…
(Sharon’s interpretation of Melbourne Central is on her blog here.)
Every year in March, Melburnians gather around the Yarra, to eat, drink, watch fireworks, and celebrate… well, something. The river, I think.
We call it the Moomba Festival. It’s an icon of a different kind – more the “you have to be there to see it” kind. Which adds another dimension to our exploration here.
And every year (well, except when it was on hiatus in the first decade of this century), Moomba crowns a King and Queen, who preside over the annual parade, which draws something around 100,000 people to watch. And this year’s Queen was a jockey, who won a really big race, and the King was her brother, who was the strapper on her horse. And they were worthy royalty, and we were pleased. Is any of this making sense? Perhaps you really did have to be there…
(Sharon’s interpretation of Moomba is on her blog here.)
PS: Below are a few more shots from this year’s parade – because the King and Queen were just one small part of what makes it such an icon…
There’s something monolithic about Eureka Tower. If you happen to see it at exactly the right time, on exactly the right day, the rising sun reflects off the golden surface, shining into the city from way above. This wasn’t one of those days… instead, we had a sky of soft, uniform grey. Bad for beams of light, nice for nature and floral photography. So, we headed to this small triangle of green, where wild flowers of many colours grow, so close to the centre of the city. And there, we saw a kind of beauty that really puts the Tower into perspective.
(Sharon’s interpretation of Eureka Tower is on her blog here.)
Audrey skips on, through rain, shine, fog. She marks the beat of time, like the tick tock of a clock, and each skips becomes a second, then an hour, then a day, then a week, then more. She watches the world around her crumble, collapse, and be built again, new lines of concrete, steel, and noise. And still she skips, and so time skips with her…
(Sharon’s interpretation of Little Audrey is on her blog here.)
Ah, Hosier Lane, you draw us in like moths, following the threads of paint, text, story, and so many little moments of surprise, every time different and every time the same. Photographers flit back and forth like bees, the walls change by the hour, and every peek around every corner shows something funny, something clever, something mischievous. We gather our little pieces of this place, take them home, and wait for the next harvest.
Don’t ever change… except for all the time.
(Sharon’s interpretation of Hosier Lane is on her blog here.)
Timothy Moss 