Gallery Days in the Realities of Marianne Baillieu

It was through the senior artist Roger Kemp. I was already at my easel when he walked through the art school, a little after 9.00 a.m. He was timetabled to teach us weekly. Roger’s eye took in the near-deserted studios that morning at a glance, then, turning to me, he asked if I was interested in some gallery work at the venue where he exhibited. The regular person who hung shows was away, and they needed a fill-in. Just temporary. Nothing complicated. Carry canvases, use a tape measure, hammer nails, square pictures with a spirit level, adjust lights, wrap canvas for shipping interstate. I could do it in my sleep. “Here’s the phone number, call and speak to Evi,” he said, “don’t lose time, do it in the next half-hour.” I went downstairs to a payphone, spoke with Evi, and clinched work for the next day. Here I was, a green art student, about to spend a couple of hours hanging an exhibition at the ritziest private gallery in Melbourne: Realities. Better still, I…