Berninneit: a fitting portrait of the Phillip Island community. Photo: Peter Clarke
By Tim Shannon
HELLO Berninneit, I have come with open arms to welcome you, to wander about you and take you into my gaze as I learn what you have to say. Like a portrait you are the artistic result of a strange process where a benefactor asks for an image of someone dear and the result endures the lasting and unpredictable attention of a public audience; you have no voice but your presence speaks for itself now and long into the future.
HELLO Berninneit, I have come with open arms to welcome you, to wander about you and take you into my gaze as I learn what you have to say. Like a portrait you are the artistic result of a strange process where a benefactor asks for an image of someone dear and the result endures the lasting and unpredictable attention of a public audience; you have no voice but your presence speaks for itself now and long into the future.
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Meeting a stranger is a powerful experience of first impressions; the first glimpse of a face, and the first sound of a name, the colour of skin, eyes and hair, and the hope of compatibility, familiarity and the possibility of unexpected excitement. Your name is unusual, a considered recognition of ancient ancestors who came and gathered here, it means Gathering Place and now you join a whole family of Island gathering places: The Jetty Triangle, The Nobbies, The Colonnades, Red Rocks and Mussel Rocks, Erehwon Point, Grossard Point, Churchill Island, The RSL and an assortment of sports clubs to name a few.
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Berninneit has been shortlisted across four categories in the annual awards of The Australian Institute of Architects’ Victorian Chapter:
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Islanders have their own way of bringing special places into their community which includes the adoption of a nick name. They are a bit averse to formality and pretence; when they give you yours you will know that you have been accepted into their store of favourite places.
When I first saw you sitting on your familiar corner of Thompson Avenue my initial reaction was to be reminded of a giant beached whale, dumped by the breaking shore waves on a stretch of flat sand, looming, with its large eyes inviting curious thoughts about this unexpected arrival. Also mysterious was my recollection of seeing that great rock Uluru in the desert of Australia’s centre and walking curiously around it guessing at what secrets it held. The Islanders have been waiting for a long time to see your face, it has been a difficult journey full of hope and disappointment, so your presence is the remarkable achievement of the efforts of many. Now your challenge of nurturing the mind and soul of your community begins; you are the gathering place for them and their art.
Let me walk closer, can I trust you, are you here to share your treasures or to protect them? You seem reticent to my approach, there is no simple welcome or open invitation. I look for your outreached hand of welcome and cannot see it. Are you agora or fort? You are an enigma, perhaps a product of your community’s culture built from resilience and learning to live with the Island’s constraints; private, reserved, stoic, proud. There is no grand civic gesture, no hero’s welcome; but there is a quiet gentle dignity, an unassuming “here I am”. You have no front or back or pair of sides, it takes time to find a way around you, to be allowed to enter rather than being invited to enter, windows and doors seem to be all the same.
I see you are made of humble bricks which have been beautifully crafted to build your pale skin which will age gracefully through the seasons ahead. There was a time when bricks were a luxury on the Island and timber and corrugated iron were the materials of necessity. There is a sweet irony in this seemingly unassuming choice. You rest draped in your skin of bricks surrounded by stands of old trees which speak of the community’s commitment to conserving the Island’s natural beauty, while at the same time presenting a foil to any hope of a formal or civic place which might connect you with your surrounding streets. The enigma goes on.
Inside I search for signs of how you might be equipped to fulfill your purpose, how you might be a gathering place for art, for the mind and soul of your community. Your interior is gentle and unassuming, as unpretentious as your outer worldly self; finely crafted soft coloured timbers, delightful views to the landscape outside, flooding daylight and a handsome passage that joins and reveals all the rooms to be discovered within. I find I am in a cocoon of comfort. But still the enigma persists. The cultural offerings have mixed messages; literature is happily celebrated in the library, history and art are secreted away in small uncomfortable rooms, and the great arts of theatre and human performance are passengers in a cinema which offers popcorn, sweets and drinks at its front door, while council staff are rewarded with gracious first floor offices.
As I move slowly back and forth along the elegant passage, I look for ways in which the identity of the community might find expression, just as a house has walls, cupboards, shelves and cabinets to display those things that turn a house into a home; I can find no such thing here, simplicity and modesty have hidden the personality I am looking for, but I know that time and wear and tear will change this.
Berninneit, you are at the beginning of your life, and you are the custodian of our Island culture, past, present and future; you have a very important job to do, to remind us how wonderful it is to be human and alive, filled with emotion and sharing our experiences. People have been gathering on this Island for thousands of years, its resources and natural beauty have been constant sources of attraction. This generation of Islanders has worked long and hard to build you here, and now you will be the catalyst for future generations as they leave their marks on you, and they push and pull you to share their celebration of living.
You are not perfect and neither are we, but having met you I am happy to know that you will be robust and generous as you modestly go about your work and I wonder what your inevitable nick name will be, you, our enigmatic house of bricks.
When I first saw you sitting on your familiar corner of Thompson Avenue my initial reaction was to be reminded of a giant beached whale, dumped by the breaking shore waves on a stretch of flat sand, looming, with its large eyes inviting curious thoughts about this unexpected arrival. Also mysterious was my recollection of seeing that great rock Uluru in the desert of Australia’s centre and walking curiously around it guessing at what secrets it held. The Islanders have been waiting for a long time to see your face, it has been a difficult journey full of hope and disappointment, so your presence is the remarkable achievement of the efforts of many. Now your challenge of nurturing the mind and soul of your community begins; you are the gathering place for them and their art.
Let me walk closer, can I trust you, are you here to share your treasures or to protect them? You seem reticent to my approach, there is no simple welcome or open invitation. I look for your outreached hand of welcome and cannot see it. Are you agora or fort? You are an enigma, perhaps a product of your community’s culture built from resilience and learning to live with the Island’s constraints; private, reserved, stoic, proud. There is no grand civic gesture, no hero’s welcome; but there is a quiet gentle dignity, an unassuming “here I am”. You have no front or back or pair of sides, it takes time to find a way around you, to be allowed to enter rather than being invited to enter, windows and doors seem to be all the same.
I see you are made of humble bricks which have been beautifully crafted to build your pale skin which will age gracefully through the seasons ahead. There was a time when bricks were a luxury on the Island and timber and corrugated iron were the materials of necessity. There is a sweet irony in this seemingly unassuming choice. You rest draped in your skin of bricks surrounded by stands of old trees which speak of the community’s commitment to conserving the Island’s natural beauty, while at the same time presenting a foil to any hope of a formal or civic place which might connect you with your surrounding streets. The enigma goes on.
Inside I search for signs of how you might be equipped to fulfill your purpose, how you might be a gathering place for art, for the mind and soul of your community. Your interior is gentle and unassuming, as unpretentious as your outer worldly self; finely crafted soft coloured timbers, delightful views to the landscape outside, flooding daylight and a handsome passage that joins and reveals all the rooms to be discovered within. I find I am in a cocoon of comfort. But still the enigma persists. The cultural offerings have mixed messages; literature is happily celebrated in the library, history and art are secreted away in small uncomfortable rooms, and the great arts of theatre and human performance are passengers in a cinema which offers popcorn, sweets and drinks at its front door, while council staff are rewarded with gracious first floor offices.
As I move slowly back and forth along the elegant passage, I look for ways in which the identity of the community might find expression, just as a house has walls, cupboards, shelves and cabinets to display those things that turn a house into a home; I can find no such thing here, simplicity and modesty have hidden the personality I am looking for, but I know that time and wear and tear will change this.
Berninneit, you are at the beginning of your life, and you are the custodian of our Island culture, past, present and future; you have a very important job to do, to remind us how wonderful it is to be human and alive, filled with emotion and sharing our experiences. People have been gathering on this Island for thousands of years, its resources and natural beauty have been constant sources of attraction. This generation of Islanders has worked long and hard to build you here, and now you will be the catalyst for future generations as they leave their marks on you, and they push and pull you to share their celebration of living.
You are not perfect and neither are we, but having met you I am happy to know that you will be robust and generous as you modestly go about your work and I wonder what your inevitable nick name will be, you, our enigmatic house of bricks.