By Phil Jarratt
In a shocking twist to an already twisted story, Noosa Mayor Tony Wellington last weekend made the startling and very public revelation that he had wilfully stolen moments while acting as an elected representative.
Their were audible gasps amongst the crowd of art lovers, friends, and those who would go to the opening of an envelope, gathered in the autumn sunshine in the lovely grounds of the Pomona Railway Station Gallery, when the Mayor brazenly admitted having stolen moments whenever no one was looking during his six years in public office at Sunshine Coast and now Noosa Councils. Not a slurp on a pinot noir or methode champenois could be heard as the Mayor smiled and even laughed while describing his descent into allegedly criminal activity.
While no actual figure has yet been put on the number of moments stolen over six years, the Pomona gathering was presented with clear evidence of a theft of major proportions in the form of a dozen exquisite and time-consuming super-realist oils bearing the Mayor’s signature.
There was further cause for concern when, on closer inspection, many of the works showed a callous disregard for community standards in their use of humour, whimsy and, dare we say it, cheekiness, to depict such imaginary events as the sacrifice of bird and other wildlife habitats for golf course developments.
Art experts within the crowd agreed that the body of work was of such high quality that it seemed impossible that the Mayor could have found the time to complete it without calling in crook for at least a few fete openings or forward estimates meetings.
Others noted that while it was a coup for Noosa to have such a renaissance man leading the Shire, there were limits.
As this column went to press the Crime and Corruption Commission had refused to confirm or deny whether its terms of reference would be extended to include the so-called Grand Theft Moments.
A spokesman said: “He’s a what? A super-realist you say. Does he wear a cape? Stealing moments is no laughing matter, but as yet we have no report of such activity involving the mayor. Could you put it in writing please?”
Tony Wellington’s Stolen Moments exhibition is showing at the Pomona Railway Station Gallery until 21 June. It’s fabulous and well worth the drive out to that pretty neck of the woods.
Sevo the Surfer
While I’m sitting here having fun at the expense of one talented artist mate, news of the passing of another is filtering in via social media. Like Tony Wellington, John Severson could turn his hand to virtually any creative endeavour, but it was in painting that he found the truest expression of himself.
As I write this I’m looking at a Sevo original on my wall, one of his classic depictions of old Hawaii, this one of the Makawao General Store in the hills of Maui. In the shelves beside me I have my bound copies of his Surfer Magazine from the years when I was a correspondent, and nearby is my treasured signed copy of his anthology of surf art and photography, Surf Fever. Hidden under plastic sleeves in my archives drawers are two copies of his original 1960 publication of The Surfer.
After growing up and learning to surf in San Clemente, California, Sevo picked up degrees in art and art education before being conscripted to the military in 1956 and stationed in Hawaii, where he used his, ah, stolen moments to make crude surf films. Back in California and about to release the third of these, called Surf Fever, Sevo had the brilliant idea of producing a photo magazine to promote the film’s college hall run along the coast.
He was responsible for every aspect of the production of The Surfer, a 36-page collection of frame grabs, photos, cartoons and surf advice. He printed 5000 of them and sold every one that summer. Unwittingly he had invented the surfing magazine, and next spring, while John F Kennedy took charge of the Oval Office, the first issue of Surfer Quarterly hit the stands. It’s still there 56 years later.
I first met Sevo when I was Surfer’s North Shore correspondent from 1978. Having sold the magazine and retired to Maui in 1971, he would still fly over to Oahu to watch the contests and talk story. I was in awe of him as a surfer and a cultural visionary, and in those days it was considered a real honour to be a part of the Surfer family.
I’d bought a few of his original paintings from an agent in California, but 30 years after our first meetings, I phoned him on Maui and asked if I could visit. We drove up the coast road from Lahaina to his quaint ’70s-style home carved into a cliff-face with a right point break way down below. By then in his mid-’70s, Sevo sat comfortably at his easel in a studio overlooking the surf, surrounded by pictures in progress or abandoned for the time being, many of them on rough chunks of cardboard, as was his style.
We talked for hours over endless cups of coffee, and I struggled back up the narrow stone steps in the late afternoon with a bulging folder of goodies that would form the artistic skeleton of our soon-to-be-opened (and sadly short-lived) Back Beach Gallery in Noosa Junction.
If there is such a thing as surf art, Sevo invented it, and inspired truly talented artists around the world, from Richard Harvey and Mitch Rae in Australia to Wade Koniakowsky in California, to Lynne Boyer in Hawaii and Vincenzo Ganadu in Sardinia.
He inspired me too, right from the start, publishing my first-ever contribution to a surfing magazine in a column called “Our Mother Ocean”.
Vale John Severson.
