by Patrick Sutczak
To
begin my Biennale experience, I woke to up to what I was to discover later that
evening, would become the hottest recorded winter day in Sydney for seventeen
years. As I stood on the balcony of the hotel, uncomfortably high above the
bustling street below, I sipped on my cup of tea and watched the interweaving ribbons
of vehicles exit and enter the city-side of the Harbour Bridge. It was 7 am and
it was already 20 degrees. A quick glance toward my hastily pulled-up bed and I
realised the pile of warm clothing nestled at the foot of it was now just
useless bag-filler for the journey home. If nothing else, this was a reminder
that preparation is excellent, but releasing myself of expectation was even
better. No finer day to visit Cockatoo Island.
Somewhere
up river, away from the morning mechanics of Sydney in full-swing, a
once-prohibited site for many years promised to resonate with the echoes of a
different era in song with creative contemporary culture from Australia and
around the world. I had heard so much about this incredible island and I was
eager to see it for myself and discover the art contained within her industrial
walls. Minutes later with my satchel laden with journal and pens slapping
steadily against my side, I embarked on a brisk yet delightful walk through the
streets toward the quay. A generous free ferry beckoned to take me to my
location, but the terminal next door offered a few stops along the way for a
pittance. Determined to wring every bit of the magnificent harbour into the
short time I had, I parted with some coin and patiently waited with fellow
water-travellers to be taken on our respective journeys.
With
the intensity of the sun increasing, the refreshing mist of harbour waves cooled
my face as I sat position at the front of the boat. The grey bulk of the
bridge loomed overhead and was gone as the ferry passed under it and onward
faithful to the schedule. Icon upon icon upon icon revealed itself as I lived
in a travel brochure of surreal overexposure to things that I knew, though I
had never actually seen before. The boat docked and departed a few times, and
we were on our way to the island. With no one getting off, and an awful lot of
people getting on, I was confident that the 18th Biennale of Sydney had
a momentum that would carry through until the final days.
The
island made so famous by its convict, maritime, and wartime history stood fast
in the water ahead. A rock adorned with remnants of both the enslaved and the entrusted,
her buildings stood out as a stark contrast to the modern monoliths of steel,
glass and concrete reaching skyward in the distance behind. The ferry slowed to
the wash of waves intensifying against the pier, and within seconds, I was
among a line of eager viewers shuffling onto the island ready for artistic
indulgence in a self-guided tour of wherever the eyes or ears drew attention.
I
took a moment to stand on the grassy expanse just beyond the information
terminal to watch the ferry pull away and throttle up to power away to the next
pick up. Surrounded by water, I was temporarily marooned. Lost on an island that asked for nothing
more than to be discovered, her invitation teasing me forward was a concrete
field leading up to a sandstone chunk seemingly bitten from her cheek. There
were buildings up ahead, delightfully industrial and undeniably large. And so
like a survivor, I instinctively began to move toward them. Behind me, a
massive banner advertising the site as an artistic venue flapped against the
wall of a freestanding building and gained my attention as I stopped to take a
photo. Regarding my visual handiwork on the digital screen I turned my back to
the sun. When I lifted my head, I saw something I hadn’t seen at first sight.
At the base of the rising cliff wall some distance from where I stood, there
appeared to be a tunnel carved into the stone. Unusual, unexpected and
deliciously inviting I retreated from the heat into the heart of Cockatoo
Island’s history and re-invention as a cultural precinct of artistic success, and
my first experience of the Biennale of Sydney…
