Sydney, three corridors in one day

Sydney landed at seven-fifteen and the corridor was open by nine. Single-O Reservoir-Street with the third flat-white. After Melbourne — the long Heide late-light, the pavilion shoot that held — I needed a new daylight. Sydney gave it: bright-clean from the east, the agency-belt walking past the window in suit-jackets and trainers, the Vault-edition being argued out at the counter.

By ten I was on the tram to Bondi. Speedos-Cafe counter-stool, then the cliff-walk south to Tamarama. The Anglo-coastal-line at Speedos was reading the room more than performing — sun-bleached hair, white cotton, that warm-tan late-autumn skin. One look held into the third glance and the day decided itself.

Leichhardt mittag at Bar-Italia. Wednesday-mittag is when the Norton-Street corridor goes to full strength — the nonni at the next table arguing about a Calabrian podcast, the espresso-machine running flat-out, somebody's mother's-day-gift Pasta-Emilia plate landing at a side-table. I had the back-terrace alone with the notebook and watched the corridor breathe. The Italian-second-gen-Wednesday-relaxed-presence is one of the strongest character-tones in Australia and I had been forgetting that. Melbourne pulled me toward one cluster all week. Sydney is teaching me about three at once.

Evening at Roslyn-Oxley9 on Soudan-Lane. The Eastern-Suburbs-gallery crowd plus the Sydney-Modern curatorial cohort plus a few East-African-Australian art-world figures around a small-format mixed-media room at the back. The kind of vernissage where the second-room is the actual room. I had fifteen minutes with someone I had been hoping the day would bring.

Three corridors in one day. The new daylight held.