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Flights of fancy

26/1/2023

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Picture
Ross and Keith Smith’s Vickers Vimy at Adelaide Airport is a throwback to an era when airports celebrated the wonder of flight rather than being shopping malls.
By Tim Shannon
 
I HAVE a memory, or perhaps it is a memory of a memory when I was three, flying with my mother from Melbourne to Adelaide on a cold night in a noisy plane that had two big propellors. We were joining my father to board a ship sailing from Outer Harbour, bound for England. He was a young aeronautical engineer who had spent three years working at the Government Aircraft Factory at Fisherman’s Bend in Melbourne, and now he was off to England for two years of research at Farnborough Airport. My recollections of the slow six-week voyage are unreliable, except for looking through the cabin porthole at the lights of boats flickering across the water. 

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The Australian court house

29/5/2022

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Wonthaggi court house, one of the grander buildings in town. If you have to spend time in a
court house, pay attention to the architecture, suggests Tim Shannon
By Tim Shannon
 
MOST of us prefer to avoid court houses. ​ However, there are people who spend their working lives serving the Court, doing their best to steer the carriage of justice, to uphold the law, and to protect our rights. The courts are the highest authorities in the land, they quietly keep governments and citizens in tow, and the buildings they reside in are most curious.

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In search of delight

18/5/2022

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Essays on encounters with Firmness and Commodity, by Tim Shannon, with thanks to Vitruvius


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A house of dreams

7/10/2021

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PictureTim Shannon dreams of a beautifully crafted house with
stories of its own to tell. Collage by Jill Shannon
By Tim Shannon
 
HOUSES are great story tellers, they reveal a lot about their inhabitants. Often life’s circumstances affect where and how we live in our houses, but the tussle between how we are shaped by where we live, and how we influence this shaping to our liking is where the stories grow. House making is such an important part of life, if we were given the freedom to forage through our dreams and imagine a house that told our stories, what Utopias might we discover?
 
I don’t like being isolated, or crowded. I am comfortable when I stand on a rise, facing north with dawn to my right and dusk to my left, under a big sky with the horizon in the distance. Perhaps this is because I grew up in Colonel Light’s Garden City, which was surveyed with a keen eye on a foreign landscape under a summer sun and clear skies 185 years ago.


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Quiet times

29/7/2021

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PictureSomewhere between necessity and beauty,
the making of things is a gift in itself
By Tim Shannon
 
IN MY bedroom above a chest of drawers hangs a small black and white photograph that was taken by my father. It shows my mother holding my four year old hand on a wintery day outside a gate of Windsor Castle. She is wearing a long woollen coat that I can recall nestling into, and her face is happy. Occasionally I pause to look at it, usually in the quiet of early morning, and my thoughts turn to childhood memories.
 
Like all houses, ours has an eclectic variety of objects that we keep. Some are made by strangers, some are rocks, bones, and shells found while walking, some are made by the family, some are gifts from friends, some are paintings, some are photographs, some are pieces of furniture, some are clothes, some are children’s toys, some we can’t find but we are sure they are there somewhere. Given enough quiet time, each of them has a story to tell.


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​A letter to Tim’s iPhone

14/9/2020

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Picture
SEPTEMBER 2020.
 
Dear Tim’s iPhone,
 
Strange times indeed to find myself writing to you, my mobile mate, my phablet friend. I can’t say why, but for a while I have been wanting to write you a letter.
 
Your memory is better than mine, but I can recall when a phone was a telephone. It was a logical device with cables to help voices reach their intended destination. It had a listening piece and a talking piece to avoid mistakes while guessing where you should place your ear or your mouth. It needed three pennies to make it work when its buttons A and B were pressed as directed. It was located inside a box of red painted timber frames holding panes of shining glass. Also inside this box was a worn directory full of names and numbers, and a musty smell unique to those wonderful places where telephone conversations were private, yet public performances.


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Self portrait of an architect

19/3/2020

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PictureLeonardo da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man, drawn in about 1490, is believed to be
a self-portrait. In an accompanying note da Vinci wrote: “The proportions
of the human body according to [Roman architect] Vitruvius”.
For Jill
 

By Tim Shannon
 
I AM host to the mind of an architect. For nearly seventy years I have listened to its voice and experienced its thoughts and emotions; together we have accumulated a vast library of images and explored a myriad of places in our dreams. Despite my trying, I cannot be anyone other than me, and I cannot be any other architect than the one I am. All the while my path has been the servant of chance and hope, being occasionally guided by a kindly soul.
 
At first I did not know what it was to be an architect, or what architecture might be. My mind was a pure blank page, unspoiled, anticipating. The first wisps to enter this void were revered but vague opinions claiming that architecture was “firmness, commodity and delight”, “frozen music”, “the magnificent play of light on volumes in space”, or “the greatest of the arts”. Like the ancient guilds, architecture for the uninitiated was discussed in codes, admission was guarded, and its prestige lay in its mystique.


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The triangle revisited

21/2/2019

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PictureTim Shannon finds plenty to enjoy in our new “she’ll be right” triangle.
By Tim Shannon
 
IT’S a long time since I first heard the name “The Triangle” and I tried to see how it described the rather odd place that joined the Cowes foreshore to its tired jetty. I recall an image of a sloping patch of unkempt bitumen which was a mixture of road, car park, foot path, and the spot for an occasional open air market with tilting stalls. It had no regular shape, but perhaps the space it filled between an assortment of walls, bollards, and a war memorial was more like a triangle than anything else, a sort of a “she’ll be right mate” triangle.


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The shoreline

14/9/2018

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Picture
Foreshore by Jill Shannon
Tim Shannon explores the shoreline, that magical place where land meets sea. 

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The Islanders

2/5/2018

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Phillip Island, illustration by Natasha Williams-Novak​
From patchwork farms to the new suburban estates, Phillip Island is a living testament to a democratic ideal played out on a finite treasure island, writes Tim Shannon. Illustration by Natasha Williams-Novak​

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