A decent showing of local (and not so) heads grew as the evening progressed. Plenty of smiles, finger-pointing, hmms & ahhs. I was happy enough but for the travesty of being designated driver for the evening. Travesty, harsh? No, the free beer at the show made for the travesty, but perhaps retaining coherency was the better bubbly.
It was grand to see the odd piece here & there disappear or affixed with a little 'sold' card. Little victories. Smile & nod. All of the works have many special people behind them, without which none of this may have matured to fruit.
Post event musing had brought two items of significance to my awareness; The venue & the folk.
After a trip down the East Coast from Sunny Coast to Sydney in search of stockists with an aesthetic to complement my fetish for wave-riding & roots respect, I discovered that the few found were a rarity.
For the most part, most seem a herpetic rash of 'ticket-to-ride' junk shops manifested from rubbing too close to their bastard step-sibling retail mega-marts with which, I postulate, they will inevitably be assimilated.
, however, are indeed a shining example of one of the flourishing few far flung from afore-mentioned excrement purveyors. With their passion for tradition made apparent in the manner they have filled their spaces in Mooloolaba & Noosaville. Artisan surf-craft shapers, brush & pen wielders, water-logged photogs, writer & movie-makers; all degrees of visionaries, tale-tellers & translators through their preferred mediums, showing respect & reverence for a divine art are given space to exhibit their craft. For this is is more a Craft co-op than surf shop.
What about the folk?
Well here's another flip. It was of no concern to me who showed up; I had wondered if anybody would show up but it fussed me not in the slightest - it was enough to have a few mates out for a beer, check out some awesome boards they had in store & lather up a foam of debate over rails & rockers, concaves, vees, weight distribution & tail preference for specific conditions.
Strangely enough, a froth of characters washed the deck of the Noosaville space & soon it was abuzz with all sorts & ages in & amongst the easels, in & out the doors, standing clumps bending to gusted volleys of tale & mirth, strewn across the couches, hovering over the make-shift bar, swaying to guitar & vocals of Mr. Andrew Morris' offerings as if he commanding ethereal fingers through their hair, & some mused in-depths of their own over the equipment sleeping inside on the racks.
I realised that there was no significance in the exhibit itself. Nor in the venue itself. What festooned me with a smile deep & wide was that there were still places out there endeavouring to keep respect & tradition strong by making space available for those to continue their art & craft, & there were folks in numbers stoked at the chance to come together & resonate in harmonious vibration.