An Ode to the 61st Camberwell Art Show
 
There once was a Chairman named Jon,
Who declared, "This year's Show will be on!"
"We've moved home to Carey,
It's exciting... not scary..."
(Though his blood pressure quietly had gone.)
 
For months there were meetings galore,
With agendas and minutes by Richard to store.
Alan steered every plan,
Like a one-person van,
While solving ten crises... then twenty more.
 
Andrew marketed far and wide,
With brochures and banners displayed with pride.
If it needed a printer,
Or looked just a splinter
Less than perfect... Andrew was never satisfied.
 
Ian marshalled one thousand works of art,
Every painting arriving played its part.
Judges all in a row,
Then a beautiful show,
With a gallery layout that was simply an art.
 
 
 
Robert charmed sponsors with wonderful flair,
Until record-breaking dollars were suddenly there.
The Treasurer smiled,
 
George stayed calm all the while,
Keeping every last cent with meticulous care.
 
Murray's computers all hummed with delight,
Art Galleria worked day and night.
He answered each plea,
From artists by the three,
Though sadly he worked far beyond what was right.
 
Now Murray, dear friend, take your rest.
For surgery now is undoubtedly best.
We'll carry your load,
Along this long road,
And make this your finest Art Show, we attest.
 
Warwick flew down from Queensland with style,
Demonstrating artists all wearing a smile.
"Just one more brush stroke..."
Became quite the joke—
Three hours later... they were still there awhile.
 
Patrick looked after the bar with good cheer,
Ensuring no Rotarian went short of a beer.
Then quietly one day,
He was heard to say,
"I've got Jon's clipboard... next Chairman is here!"
 
Annie and Teresa smiled all day long,
At the sales desk where buyers belong.
Receipts by the score,
Then fifty more,
Never once getting a total wrong.
 
Fabienne marshalled volunteers with delight,
Morning, noon and well into night.
"If someone's not here,
Don't panic, my dear..."
Then somehow she'd make everything right.
 
Yvonne's cheese platters became quite renowned,
The finest refreshments for miles around.
People came for the art...
But, whispered apart,
"The brie's worth the entry!" became quite profound.
 
David conquered the social media scene,
Posting pictures so polished and keen.
Each click and each share,
Had people declare,
"This must be the best Show they've seen!"
 
Denise and Glenda, Jenny and Daniella stood proudly nearby,
Curating with an artist's keen eye.
"Just move that one there..."
"A touch more of flair..."
Creating a gallery none could deny.
 
Amadini's PowerPoints sparkled with grace,
Every committee meeting kept firmly in place.
And when Robert was gone,
She simply carried on—
With a smile that never left her face.
 
Then came Gala Night... all polished and grand.
The Chairman had speech notes carefully in hand.
He'd practised for weeks,
With confidence peaks...
Until fate had a very different plan.
 
His opening words were carefully wrought:
"Good evening..." was all that he thought.
But halfway through,
The audience knew,
They'd soon hear a line never practised or taught.
 
Instead of the welcome he'd carefully penned,
His script took a dramatic new bend.
"Is there a doctor here?"
Echoed loud and clear—
Not quite the opening he'd planned to send!
 
An ambulance arrived before long,
Proof that sometimes life writes the song.
The speeches survived,
The Gala still thrived,
Though the script had gone wonderfully wrong.
Then Sunday arrived with another surprise;
More drama appeared before everyone's eyes.
Poor Murray took ill,
Quite against his will,
Leaving everyone shocked and surprised.
 
So the committee all rallied around,
True Rotary spirit was certainly found.
Each shoulder grew broader,
Good friends worked harder,
As teamwork and laughter continued to abound.
 
Meanwhile, the Chairman flew off with great speed,
Claiming Europe had answered his need.
"The Mediterranean calls—
It's research for these halls!
I'm searching for next year's Best in Breed."
 
Some whispered, "He's chasing a Monet, perhaps?"
Others thought, "He's just having a nap!"
But Jon maintained firmly,
Quite proudly and warmly,
"It's all for the Art Show!" (We'll allow him that.)
 
Then emerged our own Italian Stallion with pride,
Keeping the committee confidently in stride.
With Jon overseas,
He handled things with ease,
Ensuring the Art Show enjoyed a smooth ride.
 
Peter Pratt had been fishing, it seemed,
When duty and friendship intervened.
He packed up his gear,
Flew home without fear,
To stand guard where the artworks all gleamed.
 
So here's to the friendships we've made,
To every volunteer who gladly stayed.
To artists and buyers,
To dreams and desires,
To every foundation we've carefully laid.
 
The move to Carey was bold and brand new,
A challenge that only the best could get through.
But together we proved,
When hearts are all moved,
There's nothing this committee cannot do.
 
So raise now a glass to this wonderful crew,
To the old hands, the newcomers too.
The Chairman may roam,
Far away from home...
But the Camberwell Art Show belongs to you.
 
And if, while sailing the Mediterranean blue,
Jon happens to find a bargain or two—
A Picasso, a Monet,
At half-price one day...
Just remember, Patrick,. he'll be back to have his say.
 
 
JonO
Chairman
Camberwell Art Show