Kim Donaldson

Lecturer
Painting

Publications

FROM THE LECTURE – A Reminder of Life

Australian Centre for Contemporary Art, Melbourne
March 1 – 31 1996

Perth Institute of Contemporary Arts
January 1997

Museum of Contemporary Art, Sydney
As part of ‘Personal Effects: The Collective Unconscious’
July – September 1998

In 1995, my brother died from AIDS related illnesses.

This work was first shown at the Australian Centre for Contemporary Art in Melbourne in 1996. Since then it has been shown at the Perth Institute for Contemporary Art in 1997 and the Museum of Contemporary Art in Sydney in 1998. ‘From the Lecture: A Reminder of Life’ has become a travelling ‘picture show’, a gypsy production moving from venue to venue using the same slides and utilizing whatever furniture is available.

This project is a response to the problematic representation of AIDS in both the media and within an art context. As an issue AIDS is very large and its visual representation relies on its ability to shock. My purpose was to articulate a position that could be identified with, not ignored through fear and prejudice.

This installation is set up as a silent lecture or a lecture without a speaker. Only the furniture available to the venue is used. The slides from the lecture project begin and end continuously – with or without an audience.

The slides for the lecture comprise images of objects from the domestic life of someone dying. By photographing the objects as ‘still lives’, and using an interrupted repetition, each item gains more significance. Time slows down. The images include views out of the window from the viewpoint of the bed, medical equipment, medication, food packages, the pet cat, the television and the telephone. The sequencing creates a narrative of a life that, in some ways, is familiar to everyone.

Preliminary reading material accompanies the lecture. This is a collaboration, with my Father, John who was the sole carer of my brother for the last months of his life. Typed, photocopied stapled these notes are available in the exhibition space.

Preliminary Reading
I
16/8/95
My daughter, Kim and I went for a walk down to the shopping complex to get some vegetables or fruit. I can’t remember which. Time seemed not to matter. We went the long way, calling into a church. Kim lit a candle just to the left of the altar. We didn’t sit and kneel, just stood and looked around. It was like being in another time or place. From the church we walked to a lovely old pub. We sat outside under the verandah and talked for a while.

II
I think about the Christmas we had in Sydney.

Mark said he wanted the full trappings, roast dinner, pudding, cake, tree, presents, the lot. We decorated the well worn, fold up Christmas tree that I hang a cork on for every year since my heart surgery. There was the tattered old angel that always sits right at the top of the tree, all the new toys for the cat to play with and the blinking lights.

The meal was no different from any other like it. There was more food than you could jump over and enough bubbly wine to make you pleasantly uncomfortable.

It all became too much for Mark and he had to go and lay down. Unfortunately this became a pattern. Later on when he would go out for dinner or have people around for a meal he would have to leave the table to lie down. This upset him because it was yet another pleasure he had lost.

III
16/8/95
When we got back to Unit 121 the words “Mark has gone” came from my wife Beverley. At that moment so many thoughts rushed through my brain, like “What comes next?”, “What should I do?”, “Who should I ring?”. I don’t know what I did.

Rachelle and Erica, nurses from Albion Street Clinic, had dropped in to see Mark. They seemed to be pointing me in the right direction.

IV
Mark wanted to go to the New Year's Eve celebration at ‘Gilligan’s’.

When you are in Sydney you have never seen so many taxis, but come New Year's Eve we spent three quarters of an hour trying to get past the engaged signal on the phone. Mark was all set to give up. Not often did he get impatient but he was a bit apprehensive about going out in his wheel chair. So would I if I have been if I had known it was an upstairs bar with badly lit, steep stairs.

The Bouncer on the door carried the wheel chair up one-handed. Other people helped me to get Mark up. I thanked the solidly constructed door minder for his help. Mark said, “Dad, he is a she.”

V
16/8/95
That afternoon I had gone down to ‘My Retreat’ or as I called it ‘My Church’ at Clovelly. The car park looks out over sea, rocks and cliffs for about 180 degrees and most times there was nobody much around. It gave me an inner peace and strength to keep going.

VI
One night I was in the lounge room and heard a yell from the bedroom. I rushed in. Mark had fallen out of bed. “How did that happen” I asked. He had been smoking, started coughing and finished up on the floor. I got him back into bed then started laughing and said, “I’m sorry but I think its funny.” He started to laugh.

I was worried about him smoking in bed so I talked to the District Nurses about it. They never came up with any real solutions, only said to hide his cigarettes. I didn’t reckon that was the way to go. So when he burnt a whole in the sheets I painted a terrible picture of a blazing inferno in an apartment block in Randwick.

After this we agreed on a rule. He could smoke in bed as long as someone was in the bedroom with him. As we would say “You know the rules” and he stuck by them.

VII
By using the laundry at the units I became friends with John the caretaker and Dave the cleaner. I would go down to their workshop (hide-away) for a chat. Dave was a Scot and would always ask how my ‘Lad’ was going.

VIII
16/8/95
Mark’s regular doctor was on holidays so we had to find another doctor who had seen Mark. When she came we had to remember times and dates for the Death Certificate.

We all went into Mark’s bedroom to say our own, last goodbyes. We did this with tears, a kiss, a touch or just by sitting in silence and watching the cat, who was saying her own goodbyes, sitting on Mark’s knees.

The funeral people came with the appropriate words and did their job like any of the other care workers we had over the time. Yet this seemed so final. There was no writing of their next visit in the diary.

IX
The walking frame was a great ‘Symbol of Hope’ and long after he couldn’t use it anymore we still kept it in its usual position. He worked so hard at the gym and in the swimming pool to be independent with his walking. It didn’t matter how long it took.

He went to the Mardi Gras party, by himself, and danced all night with the walking frame. He even went to the ‘Recovery’ next day.

X
The telephone was Mark’s greatest friend. It kept him up with all the gossip and helped him laugh with his friends, but most of all it kept him in charge of his life.

XI
Often I would come into Mark’s room and see tears running down his face as he sobbed. He was listening to his CD player and playing ‘My Hero’ by Mariah Carey. I asked, “What’s wrong?” He said it was just that the words of the song meant so much to him.

After a while he didn’t play his music.

XII
Sheba, Mark’s cat would sleep for hours on his legs.

Mark was worried it would ‘bond to Dad’ but I told him it was ‘cupboard love’. I fed it.

Sheba gave us lots of love and helped Mark to think about another life he was responsible for. He was so excited when he picked her out and brought her home.

The cat understood many things. It played rough with me but never with Mark.

XIII
17/8/95
My daughter, Michelle, arrived from Perth. I felt she had missed out on Mark dying. I thought of her helplessness in being so far away. The long distance calls had to be kept brief and often conveyed fear and despair.

XIV
How do you measure kindness and caring?

Some of our friends, even though they didn’t know Mark, wrote lovely messages in letters, knitted socks to keep his feet warm or helped us keep going with a phone call. People’s ability to listen was amazing. Often, the only thing I could talk about was my worry, my tiredness, that Mark wasn’t getting any better or my heartbreak over this disease where I knew the end result.

I have learnt that people can listen. It will be my turn to listen when all they want to do is talk.

XV
Sometimes we would have our quiet times. I would ask Mark if he wanted to talk. He said no. So we didn’t.

XVI
Mark felt he had to make decisions and not feel useless. He said I gave him that freedom. I always told him he was responsible for his health. It was up to him to choose what treatment he took and whether he took his medication. I treated him like a smart person (somebody who took after his Dad).

XVII
Mark and I went to the candlelight vigil. I was sent off to buy candles then we started to walk towards The Domain. The endless rows of candles flickered down Oxford Street.

I started hearing a list of names, mainly young men. Just ordinary people’s names. Just like I would soon be hearing Mark’s name. He was going to die too and he wouldn’t be here next year.

Then Mark asked me to wheel him closer to another Mark. He was standing quietly alone. Mark reached out and held his hand. There were no words. At the same time a hand reached out and held mine. It was a mother’s hand. Tears quietly filled my eyes.

When we got home Mark told me that the other Mark had just lost his partner.

XVIII
17/8/95
I went for a walk, just to get some space around me. When I came back I looked in at Mark’s empty bed, a hospital bed from St Vincent’s. My mind seemed to have shut down. I couldn’t see Mark, I couldn’t cry. I had come to the end of ‘Caring for Mark’ which had occupied every moment for over eight months.

XIX
I have read Louise Hay’s book on AIDS over and over again. It’s helped me a lot.

At first Mark talked about an ‘assisted passage’ but then his attitude changed. He could see we were learning something about somebody living with AIDS and was going to show us what he already knew. Death has a beautiful side to it. He had learnt his lessons.

Mark taught me so much but I still had some lessons to learn.

How was I going to tell people my son had died and that he died of AIDS? It wasn’t so hard to do. I now don’t feel any hostility and most people are supportive of us. They just don’t ask about AIDS.

John Donaldson
Maryborough, Victoria
January 1996

FROM THE LECTURE – A Reminder of Life
Kim Donaldson

Australian Centre for Contemporary Art, Melbourne
March 1 – 31 1996

Perth Institute of Contemporary Arts
January 1997

Museum of Contemporary Art, Sydney
As part of ‘Personal Effects: The Collective Unconscious
July – September 1998

Castlemaine State Festival
Castlemaine Post Office
April 2005

For the Castlemaine State Festival
Kim Donaldson would like to acknowledge the support of Christ Church, Castlemaine and the Victorian College of the Arts.