4th of January 2011

..whilst
trying not to be disturbed by the repetitious recounting of weekend exploits
of the young, old and terminally stupid.
Should I so choose I won’t be working again, as just before Christmas
I was packaged out from my place of employment of the past 20 years, the result
of one of its periodic and somewhat inept reorganisations. It took some effort
to be released into the wild, as up until the last moment they kept finding
me positions that I didn’t want – I had politely expressed a strong desire
to fall on my sword, ‘take one for the Gipper’ and let younger people
have a chance of being over worked and underpaid. Whilst one side of my mind
had been prepared to work diligently for another few years, the sensible side
knew that I was definitely over it. So I had a happy Christmas.
To my surprise I have already been offered more work, but even though extremely
flattered that someone might think that I possessed even the slightest expertise,
I trust that I will decline the offer over a suitably expensive lunch. .
I will receive a contractual obligated package, the 21st century’s equivalent
to the gold watch, which means I won’t go out with the extreme fear and
uncertainty of an extremely dubious financial future. That’s when it finally
arrives, as being flick-passed over Christmas doesn’t guarantee fast and
efficient dismissal processes. Then I’ll have joined what Terry Lane called
‘the downwardly mobile genteel poor’ – the fate of those who don’t
get a proper job until they are over forty.
I am quite happy as I have many things to do and I won’t miss work, even
though latterly my working life within the great leviathan of Telstra has been
challenging and often sometimes surprisingly enjoyable. There are not many jobs
that see you talking to a satellite company over caviar and champagne in Las
Vegas or at a business conference that just happens to be on at the same time
as the New Orleans Jazz Festival. I won’t miss the fifty plus hour weeks,
the impossible deadlines and the ever-changing priorities. I will miss the companionship
of many fine, hard working people, but I won’t miss the senior management
too much, nor will have to be concerned ever again with the idiocy of government
competition policy which has been instrumental in both almost destroying the
once proud company and delaying the deployment of proper broadband infrastructure.

And amazingly I don’t think that my departure means that there won’t
be anybody else in the company with post-graduate qualifications in both Computing
and Fine Art – but I think it will be bereft of anybody that has also
shown at the National Gallery of Victoria.
On actuarial figures I have about another twenty-two years left to me, but based
on the longevity of both sides of the family I have probably a few more years
than that. Of those years at least half should see me little changed in physical
and mental ability – probably because I am starting from a very low base.

So I will be able to dedicate a little more time to these monthly missives rather
than the few scrambled hours when I really wanted to be in bed or reading a
book by somebody that could write well. But mainly I intend to make up for all
the lost time I didn’t spend painting or drawing – so much time
has already been lost and so much skill departed. I have already realised that
drawing requires continual nurturing or the ability, the proper coordination
between eye brain and hand quickly deteriorates. Preparing PowerPoint presentations,
business plans or Excel spreadsheets is not an effective substitute.
Most importantly I have to learn to think like an artist again – to try
and loosen the chains of the direct and lineal approach that work has imposed
and business thinks best for its progress and internal machinations.
It should be interesting and frustrating in equal measure. I’ll keep you
posted