Liane Arno

A touch of stardust

30/4/2026

Leigh Rowles ... disciplined artist with a mischievous soul.

By Liane Arno

THE thing about chatting with Leigh Rowles is that your discussion will always be full of wonder, of mischief, of philosophy, of life and of humour. And in no particular order or emphasis.

Her conversation is mimicked by her abstracts – jam-packed full of colour, of creativity, of originality, eclectic and engaging.

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Trials and tribulations

31/3/2026

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When does a job trial turn into unpaid labour?

By Liane Arno

I HEARD a story the other day of someone who had recently moved to the area and went in search of a job. She saw a board in the window of a local café looking for staff and she thought she would give it a go. She was welcomed in and told she could come in for a trial the next day.

The next day she worked hard for four hours. After an initial show around she worked pretty well independently taking orders, operating the till and cleaning up.

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Lost in Bunnings

15/1/2026

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Our snap judgements are often wrong.

By Liane Arno

WHY I thought going into Bunnings on Christmas Eve was a good idea I will never know. I was with Matt and searching for a garden tap. I was in the section marked for garden hoses but couldn’t find the taps.

Incredibly there was a rare Bunnings storeman not only in sight but in the same aisle and I asked him if he could tell me where the taps were. “You’ll find them in Aisle 43.”

We navigated the hordes of shoppers, made more difficult as I had to guide Matt who is clinically blind, and found the plumbing session full of bathroom and kitchen taps but not a garden tap to be seen. Back we go to the original aisle, through more hordes of shoppers and found the garden taps. As I railed at Matt that the storeman would have looked at me, a grey haired ‘sheila’, asking the question, and immediately thought I wanted a kitchen tap.

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The long road to a rare diagnosis

17/8/2025

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When the brain misfires: a chance encounter with a specialist revealed the truth about Liane Arno's bizarre synptoms.

By Liane Arno

WHO knows how long I have had a tumour in my brain but it looks like it has been years. Slowly and surely this tumor has been affecting the growth hormone secreted by the pituitary gland. Not for me to grow taller (I am still 5 foot 3) but broader.

Incrementally my skeleton has been changing. When we first took over the pub (now 20-odd years ago) I noticed that my feet were getting bigger. I could no longer fit in the high heel shoes that I had worn in my corporate career. As I had also put on some weight I put it down to the fact that fat must distribute itself around the body as a whole and I was obviously on my feet far more as I served behind the bar.

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For better or worse

5/6/2025

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India was the setting – but not the cause – for Matt’s latest unlikely adventure.

By Liane Arno

“WHAT do you mean you can’t see half my face?” I asked Matt. We were in the middle of Rajasthan on our dream holiday. We travel extensively for our volunteer work but this was different. We had been planning it for ages and, reflecting it may be our last hurrah, decided to be decadent and were staying in Maharaja Palaces pretending we were the landed gentry being guided by our driver, Baldev, around the north of India without a care in the world.

Matt started to get some headaches. Not surprising really as it was over 40 degrees on most days. We made sure he was hydrated and tried to stay ahead of the pain with painkillers. But still the headaches persisted – and now this.

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Hey presto!

24/3/2025

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A spellbound Liane Arno doesn’t need to know how magic happens.

By Liane Arno

CATHERINE, politely I have to say, suggested that I was a stooge. But no – I was as flabbergasted as she was. I joined a group of people who were being tricked by the magician we had organised for the children at a party of ours. The children were following the magician as though he was the Pied Piper and the adults were peering over the children’s heads eager to catch the magician out. Apparently there are two types of people who watch magic. There are the children (and many adults like me) who want to be carried away into a world of make believe and wonder, and the others who are trying to work out how the hell they do it.

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Grow your own

9/9/2024

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Graeme McAlpine is ready to pass on the secrets of his mind-bending craft.

By Liane Arno

TO ALL you whittlers, woodworkers, crafties, artisans and chippies – you’ve been doing it all wrong! You don’t make a walking stick – you grow it. That’s right – grow it. It will take a little longer of course – but what you end up with is an amazing, unique and treasured ambulatory aid like no other in the world.

It took five years and much trial and error for Graeme McAlpine to master the technique of growing walking sticks.

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Say that again

23/3/2024

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Hard of hearing? Then you might need a
different kind of smoke alarm.

By Liane Arno

WHEN it became clear that it wasn’t just “marital” deafness that caused Matt to not hear what I was saying he went to be tested for hearing aids. The audiologist quipped, “Now if you don’t want to listen to your wife, whose voice I am assuming will be a high pitch, don’t wear these hearing aids.”

“Unfortunately she has quite a low voice,” replied Matt.

I knew it! It was marital deafness all along!

Be that as it may, Matt and I were outside the front of our place chatting to a neighbour in his late seventies. I asked the fellows if they could hear where the smoke alarm was coming from. “What smoke alarm?” they both asked. Neither had heard it.

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'The eye of a hawk and the hand of a surgeon'

25/1/2024

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The Bass Coast Artists Society has engaged noted ceramicist Rob Matheson to run a monthly class at the Rescue Station in Wonthaggi. He’s pictured during a recent class with the Bribie Potters.

By Liane Arno

“No one dies from schizophrenia,” Rob Matheson tells me. And yet his mother had schizophrenia and died at just 48 years of age. She was a deeply compassionate woman who ran the TB Ward at the Heidelberg Hospital.

There was no such thing as a remedy for PTSD in those days. They filled her with psychotropic drugs and gave her ECT until she resembled Jack Nicholson in the final scene of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.

From this terrible experience Rob has become an incredibly empathetic person, an amazing artist and lover of the natural world.

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The Wonthaggi wave

13/12/2023

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Small courtesies like the Wonthaggi wave may be on their way out.

By Liane Arno

MATT is the kindest person I know – except when he gets behind the wheel of a car. “Aren’t you going to let that car reverse out into your lane?” I will ask as we drive around the ever-busier streets of Wonthaggi. “I didn’t even see him,” Matt will reply – but I know he has – he just wants to keep his spot in the line before entering the intersection.

He then moves on to describe that he, as a man, is the hunter, his eyes concentrating on the target ahead and not distracted by his peripheral vision. (Please do read Alan Pease’s “Why Men Don’t Listen and Women Can’t Read Maps” where he describes this concept so well). I, on the other hand, must be a continual frustration for those drivers behind me as I let drivers back out into the traffic. After all it only results in a short delay for me – and a big relief to the driver.

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Lost and found

15/5/2023

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'Mum and us' (twin sisters Liane and Julia)

By Liane Arno

“IT’S such a privilege to look after our elderly parents isn’t it?” came the question from the district nurse.

I burst into tears. I was in the middle of Woolworths weeping into the phone as shoppers tried to avoid me. “I would have done anything for my dad,” I told her, “but it’s so hard when no matter what I do for Mum I get shouted at.”

Funny, isn’t it, when you think that in all the years of growing up, including going through those terrible teenage years when Mum never raised her voice, here she was now reducing me to tears every day. I know now that it is because she has dementia.

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Press on!

19/4/2023

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All the way from Italy, Wonthaggi’s own community olive press is ready for action in May.

By Liane Arno

WE ALL love olive oil. Now here’s a chance to enjoy your own “home-grown”, cold pressed, virgin olive oil.

Wonthaggi now has its own community olive press, housed at the State Coal Mine Rescue Station Arts after being delivered all the way from Italy. A technician from the company (from Toowoomba not Italy!) is coming to guide us through our first pressing.

Simply harvest your olives (or have a volunteer harvest them for you) and bring them to the Rescue Station between noon and 5pm on May 20.

We'll weigh them and give you a receipt. We will then press the olives, get back in contact with you and arrange for you to collect your share of the oil. A rough estimate is one litre of oil for every 10 kilograms of olives but we’ll only know once we’ve done it.

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Fancy footwork

13/12/2022

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Gay Gibson, front, with tap dancers Jenny Adrichem, left,
Terry Guilford and Christine Lay. After a lifetime of dancing, Gay is still spreading the joy of a good workout for the body and the mind.

By Liane Arno

WITH my early childhood in England I had no idea who Gay Gibson was referring to when she talked about finger-clicking, plaid suited and hatted Happy Hammond. I googled him when I got home and found a YouTube of this infectiously smiling fellow singing, “Happy Days are Here Again” with Princess Panda and Lovely Anne. Much of the film stock of this Channel 7 children’s program is now destroyed. If it wasn’t, we would be able to see Gay dancing on stage as a pre-teenager.

Gay was ‘discovered’ when a talent scout raced out from the Myer Emporium (as it was called then) when she was walking past as a four-year-old with her mother and three-year-old sister and said, “Oh!” the talent scout said. “That’s just what I’m looking for!”

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Surf’s up, Nauru style

19/10/2022

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Nauru Surf Club. Wonthaggian John Short is at rear. Photo: Darrius Abel Detenamo

By Liane Arno

“WHERE do you come from?” We were in Nauru doing our volunteer work when we met up with an expat. You know from your own travels that this is a common first question.
“You won’t have heard of it.”
“Try me,” he responded.
“Right down the south of Victoria, a bit past Phillip Island,” I said.
“Yes – but what’s the name?” he persisted.
“Wonthaggi,” I eventually provided, knowing full well he didn’t have a clue where it was.
“You’re shitting me! I was born there.”

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The good oil

10/9/2022

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Frank Cimino shares some tips on growing good olives.

By Liane Arno

IN A rare fit of anger, Matt threw down his paring knife and declared, “That is the last olive I am ever going to pickle.”

In front of him was a huge jar of olives that he had religiously sliced a small cut to enable the brine in which they were immersed to take away their bitterness. Not only had he laboriously slit every one of the olives he was now ‘looking forward’ to a daily regime of changing the water until he could then separate them out into smaller sterilised jars and then immerse them in oil.

Sound familiar?

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Here’s to you, Tex

2/6/2022

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$Picture$ Tex Abrahamson, pictured in his element at the Royal Mail bar, claimed
to be “a man of few words and no principles whatsoever“.

By Liane Arno

MANY of the drinkers at Archies Creek were creatures of habit. Tex was no exception. Without fail Tex would turn up at the Creek on a Saturday night – because he always had. Despite the fact that there were no longer bands on a Saturday night, and despite the fact that the rest of the locals came in the afternoon to place their bets in the front bar, and would be gone by 5pm, Tex doggedly came in on Saturday nights. Sometimes it would be only him and me in the bar, but with the restaurant full.

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The coal miner’s daughter

17/5/2022

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Wendy Crellin, left, with her father Allan Opie, at a union rally. Community service is in her DNA.

By Liane Arno

NATURALLY I had known of Wendy Crellin, as most of us do who have anything to do with art and community in Wonthaggi – so I was most intrigued to learn of her history.

Wendy’s father, Allan Opie, was a fascinating man. His working life started at 14 as a brace boy following his father’s footsteps in the Wonthaggi Mine and has been variously described as a communist, radical, person of interest to ASIO, union man, activist, fighter (he fought under the name of Tiger Opie), influencer, community leader and loving husband and father.

It took a great deal of courage to take on this dangerous work in the most appalling conditions. He became passionate about ensuring the safety of his fellow miners. As a young man he was part of a stop work meeting over conditions on the very day that an explosion killed 13 men. The Rescue Station mobilised the would-be rescuers but to no avail.

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Tutus not required

7/4/2022

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Rapt attention as Wendy Crellin leads the seniors’ corps be ballet. Photos: Catherine Watson

By Liane Arno

WHEN I first met my husband Matt (or should I say a little bit after I met him for decency sake!) I used to laugh that when he took his knickers off he would pick them up by his toes, fling them into the air well over his head and catch them on the way down as they sailed past his shoulders. I told him that I would know he was an old man when he couldn’t do that any more. Without giving too much away I noticed that he did this less and less – but lately there has been a resurgence. And why? Because Matt has joined Wendy Crellin’s ballet barre classes at the Rescue Station.

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Smooth moves

11/2/2021

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When it comes to Vinyasa yoga, it’s all about the belly button, Amy Wallace explains to Liane Arno.

By Liane Arno

I KNOW. You are probably, like me, struggling to work out what the Bee Gee’s hit song, “Staying Alive” and yoga have in common. After all, the song takes us back to a time of long hair, tight clothes and falsetto voices as we danced beneath disco balls scanning the heaving mass of bodies to see if the man or woman of our dreams had the right rhythm. Yoga, however, makes us think of a cross-legged Indian gentleman wearing a loin cloth and turban and emitting a sonorous sound, seemingly without taking a breath.

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My day in court

28/1/2021

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The attack on Capitol Hill reminded Liane Arno of the day she found herself in court, transformed from witness to accused

By Liane Arno

LIKE many of us, I looked on in horror as the US Capitol was invaded. Scenes of people carrying guns, looking like something out of Mad Max (or worse, in op shop fatigues) screaming out to kill whilst the legislators hid under desks had me glued to the screen.

It made me think back to the last time I was in a place of law in Australia. I was there to provide a character reference for a fellow we had befriended. I rarely carry a bag – but on this occasion I brought along my laptop so I could continue to work whilst waiting for the court appearance. My friend went through the metal detector first. Being so tall he almost skimmed the lintel. Giving my bag to the burly security man, my 5’3” (1.6m) self followed closely behind.

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A dash of colour

17/9/2020

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Pippin by Monica Smith

By Liane Arno

I DON’T think I have laughed so much for a long time. Starved for company, Monica Smith and I meet in person rather than do the interview over the phone in order to see and talk about her works of art hanging at ArtSpace.

But what is tickling my fancy is not her art – but her wonderful joie de vivre. Unless I am very much mistaken the demographics of Bass Coast Post’s women audience would suggest that the vast majority have been through both puberty and menopause. So you can imagine my hoots of delight as Monica described her relationship with her pubescent daughter some years ago when this terrible and confusing mix of hormones was raging in equal measure in both the female members of the household.

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The golden touch

16/7/2020

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Jeni Jobe with her entry for this year's Archies Bald Prize 2020 -
a 2D Portrait of Chris and 3D Medicine man in Stoneware)

By Liane Arno

JENI Jobe and I first got to know each other in 2019 when she saw that I was wanting to put a book together about the Archies Bald Portrait Prize that she had been a part of.

Out of the blue I got a message from her asking if I would like some pro bono help putting it together. I was on the one hand reluctant to accept as I knew how much work it would involve but on the other hand thrilled as to do the Prize justice it needed a professional graphic artist to compile the book – but we had no funds as we were all volunteers and all the funds we raised went to the Cancer Council. She did the artists proud.

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A man of many words

30/4/2020

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Writer’s block? No problem for Kit Fennessy

By Liane Arno

Kit Fennessy sweeps into ArtSpace like someone out of one of his novels. A man in black, from his boots to his cowboy hat. Jeans and a thigh length trench coat seal the picture.

I, wearing the Covid-19 uniform of trackie dacks and floppy jumper (well at least I changed out of my slippers for the occasion), feel somewhat underdressed.

This whirl of energy stalked through the gallery drawn to some of the more (naturally!) flamboyant items on display.

I must say it was wonderful to show off some of the work of our artists given we had been closed for many weeks now.

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Man of many parts

17/3/2020

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Geoff Ellis, writer, photographer, councillor, activist
and petrol head. Photo: Shaun Inguanzo

By Liane Arno

“START with the gory details!” I am getting advice from Geoff Ellis on the technique he used when gaining the attention of meeting-weary colleagues in OH&S meetings. It’s a technique he still uses.

So – where do I start? What gore and guts can I reveal of our local councillor’s history? I quite like how he got here. Geoff reveals that his place in Australia was realised through the “assignment” of two Irish Catholic convicts.

One – his great-great-grandmother – a feisty, five-foot, cranky woman who was sent to Australia for stealing a cloak. Head shaved as a public humiliation as she never did what she was told, she was forced to work crushing rocks and boulders that would become the roads of the new settlement of Sydney. I can just imagine this gritty woman swinging a mattock and cursing, as the Irish are wont to do, imagining that every rock she bashed was the head of a person in authority. She met the man to whom she would bear 10 children (only four survived into adulthood) who had been transported himself at age 14 for pickpocketing. What a combination of genes for Geoff to inherit several generations later!

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Making his mark

23/1/2020

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Bricklayer, masseur, clay artist … Pat Wishart lets
his hands do the talking.

By Liane Arno

AS PAT Wishart rose to greet me, I saw he had a back brace on. “I know a really good masseur if you need one,” I quipped. Because in fact Pat is that really good masseur. Not long after I met Pat, I put my back out and could hardly walk. The agony when I tried to change the gears in the car as I drove to his studio brought me to tears. As Pat worked on my back, he told me that he could almost see through the skin and visualise the musculature of a person. When I went back for my second appointment, I told him I felt like a fraud – my back problem had completely gone.

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