I’m not a very good cook. Following all the precise steps in a recipe is quite stressful, and I can never manage them. So, picture the scene when I first met Gina. It was 2008 and we were invited to the Daish-Gorge house for a Saturday evening dinner party. A dainty woman opened the door and ushered us into a gracious living room- apologizing for the non-existent mess. Imagine the candles on the crisp tablecloth, the posy of flowers, the hors d’oeuvres, all just so. Romain was cooking mains in the kitchen, while Gina poured aperitifs into fine glassware. Rostered to work all day in a local gourmet cooking store, Gina had made dessert in advance. This, she pronounced, was a “complete disaster”.
“Oh, you poor thing!” I thought. My cooking disasters were all too frequent. My rubbery banana cakes… my lumpy white sauces… my gluggy fried rice.
But then Gina bought out her ‘failed’ flan. It had a delicate golden-brown crust that melted on the tongue and was full of luscious strawberries, beautifully arranged over a flawless custard filling. Of course, it was delicious! Gina’s perfect disaster was better than anything I had eaten in Albury. Gina was a gifted cook.
Our talents in the kitchen and our social backgrounds were very different, but we developed a rare connection, one of those easy and lasting friendships. Gina was raised on Sydney’s North Shore, in Mosman, and I grew up on a modest farm in the Riverina district. But our mothers were both skilled seamstresses, and we shared a love of fine fabrics and simple, elegant design. Our ‘families of origin’ also had similar views and values: holding to the standards of previous generations. So, we recognised and understood each other, no explanation required.
Over the years we ate together frequently, enjoying Gina’s disastrous desserts, watching French films, and helping with home renovations, as good friends do. Gina had a vision for elegant interiors and an equal capacity for ‘direction’, that realised these concepts. She had formidable drive and energy for life. Gina could be contradictory. She was socially progressive but personally conservative. She wanted to meet her grandchildren. But was also quite old-fashioned about the activity that would her a grandmother. She treasured Olivier and wanted to protect him- right into the future. Gina was reserved and private, especially about her physical health, but she was open about her experience of depression and her frustration with the limits on her life and choices. All the places yet to visit, all the things she couldn’t do…
I suggested Gina take up a craft activity as a distraction from all the sad things. Gina chose to knit a classic 4-ply men’s vest for Romain and then knitted, unpicked, and knitted it again. Gina knitted this vest at least twice.
By then, illness had exhausted even her determination. She couldn’t finish the project, so I offered to help. I must say I picked up the stitches around the neck with some trepidation! Gina had high expectations and didn’t want her work (cooking, gardening, decoration, or whatever) to look amateur. When it was finished, she sent me this photo. Gina wrote, “Hello dear Jenny, SO many people complimented R on his new vest! Lucky they didn’t look too closely at my boo boos”. Gina’s exacting eye sometimes lingered on the mistakes of life, especially her own. But in recent years, she increasingly focused upon love. Amongst the pain of her condition, this is what she held in her view. The second photograph, taken by Gina, shows this ‘way of seeing’ the world.
Gina took this photo of Bryn and I at Olivier’s 21st birthday party. She said, “I LOVE this picture, not great quality but no matter, so beautiful”. Classic Gina. Photographs are ubiquitous in our society, and we overlook how they shape us, how they inform “the cultural imaginary” of our contemporary world.[1] Photographs can help us to understand another person’s point of view, to see what they see. So, in the flash of a moment we see what Gina saw, including the love that she received in return. If you look very closely at her knitted vest you could find the boo-boos. But they are tiny and insignificant compared to the fine and consistent gauge Gina achieved with quite challenging materials. A beautiful garment, a beautiful life, that is a gift of love to warm our hearts. These photographs capture moments now past, but they strengthen ties that remain despite the physical passage of time. This is the tie of love, an eternal bond that draws us into Gods heart.
Rest in peace, dear Gina.
[1] Raymond, Claire. 2017. “Can There Be a Feminist Aesthetic?” Comunicação e Sociedade (Braga.) 32: 45–57, p54
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