Releasing the Apsara

PETRE SANTRY

REFLECTION 22: RELEASING THE APSARA

Writing a story of my life path leading to women’s studies in the context of Indo- China reveals a continuing story of self-discovery. Although this journey has been complex with many aspects that are difficult to write about (including growing up in a culturally rich but challenging home environment), influenced by my darling maternal Irish grandmother, belief in God from a very early age has given me a stable point from which to break out and achieve my dreams in remarkable ways. In 1937 I was born in London within the sound of bow-bells (making me a Cockney) into a world of accomplished painters, sculptors and musicians. My young artist parents, Marie (pregnant with myself) and John Santry, with three- year-old son Michel (named after Michelangelo), had come by ship through the Suez Canal, stopping to see the pyramids before going on to England to study art at the then famous Westminster Art School. Dad, son of an Irish-Catholic father and dressmaker mother from Pyrmont in Sydney (their tiny cottage is now national heritage), had always dreamed of becoming an artist. After his father died in a crane accident (in the difficult period after the First World War), he left school at age fourteen to work. Being the main breadwinner for his mother and younger siblings during the Great Depression understandably led to his strong belief in socialism. When they met, mum was a vivacious, talented scholarship-winning artist studying full time at East Sydney Tech and he was doing evening classes at the Dattilo Rubbo Art School (also with a scholarship), while working as an artist at Truth Newspaper and Paramount Pictures. Sharing their passion for art, they had bravely sailed to London to attend Westminster Art School and visit Paris. At this time, dad was supporting us working as a freelance commercial artist, while mum looked after the children. I have been told, that to help out, the then struggling artist William Dobell used to wheel me in my pram around Regents Park in return for some much-needed meals. Unfortunately, after three years in London, the impending Second World War and fears that I was developing rickets through lack of sunshine, resulted in my mother wanting to return to Australia. At a time when many artists were fleeing to Cornwall, my father (whose fine art career was the prime consideration) wanted us to stay in England. Mother won and the decision to return home was made. Travelling across France and through Italy we were able to board one of the last passenger ships to get through to Australia. Mum said that in Italy the Italians adored children so we were very popular, and many refugees (including composer George Dreyfus) boarded ship with us in Naples.

Arriving in Sydney, we first lived at Darling Point where my baby sister Robin was born, then moved to Sans Souci. At this time several Japanese mini- submarines entered the harbour and I clearly remember the sirens and searchlights as we sat in dad’s Austin convertible in a garage under the house, enjoying the treat of eating cake and foods from green war-ration tins. As a result of this shock, we quickly moved to a house in Springwood in the Blue Mountains, close to other artists including Norman Lindsay and George Finey. It is interesting that even as a small child familiar with the nude, I saw some of the paintings as lascivious and exploitative of women. Born into this family, we three children were not only surrounded by artists and paintings, but expected to draw and paint with them as a matter of course. Moving back to Sydney we settled in Northwood on the cliff edge of a bay in the Lane Cove River, surrounded by bushland with convict markings and Aboriginal middens – again in the company of fellow artists. Dad’s work as illustrator of wartime covers for the Australian Women’s Weekly magazine and political cartoonist for the Sydney Sun newspaper, meant that moving back was more practical. However, due to fears of a Japanese invasion, dad taught mum to use a rifle in case she needed to protect herself (she fell over with the backfire). Following Pearl Harbour and an invasion of the much welcomed American sailors into Sydney (dad’s paintings of this joyful time are in the National War Museum), my first big shock came in finding newspapers that mum had hidden in a cupboard. These showed the piles of shoes and clothes that had been collected from the murdered Jewish people in Europe. I was utterly horrified and pondered why I had been so lucky to escape poverty and war when others had not. For the next twenty years our home became a meeting place for the Northwood Art Group, which centred around a sketch club every Thursday night and outdoor painting trips every Saturday, with mum holding art classes during the week. Apart from our family (young ones included), the foundation members of this group were Lloyd Rees, Roland Wakelin and George Lawrence. As dad was secretary of the Sydney Art Society and head of life drawing at East Sydney Tech, everyone knew about our sketch club, meaning that most serious Sydney artists came to visit. Visitors included William Dobell, John Olsen, James Gleeson, Bill Pigeon, Donald Friend, Arthur Murch, Michael Taylor, John Bell, Douglas Dundas and later, young Brett Whitely attended as a regular – calling my mum “mummy”. For my education I was sent to a North Sydney Church of England girls’ college, Wenona, where the school motto was “Ut Prosim” (that I may serve). I really took that motto to heart. However, in those days I was not a sportswoman and school seemed somewhat boring, except for the subjects of geology and astronomy which absolutely fascinated me. My dreams of becoming a geologist (something exciting and different) were quashed when I realised my dad would need to pay university fees (at that time students had to pay in full), so I decided on another career path by taking up an apprenticeship in advertising, while attending East Sydney Technical College for night classes in drawing and painting. Although I did really well in my artwork because of the huge inherited advantage; but even though my mother was a remarkable artist in her own right,

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