Whatever took me so long: I\u2019d been a fan of Chrissy Amphlett and Divinyls since the release of their 1983 Monkey Grip EP, yet it took me until the summer of 1988-9 to see Chrissy live on her Temperamental tour at The Sevens Creek Run Woolshed auditorium at Euroa.<\/p>\n
It was a hot, balmy night, so the outdoor seating, even with the odd mosquito, was perfect. The band started with a slow heartbeat guitar rhythm building louder and louder, punctuated by psychopathic, menacing icy scratches. The stage was pitch-black. A single overhead light ever-so-slowly turned up: there she was, Chrissy herself, in a sparkling blue dress, head forlornly bowed, hiding her face in a blond wig. Immediately I sensed another persona: she had transformed herself, taken on all the grief, pain and emotional baggage of \u2018Elsie\u2019, a mentally twisted, drug-affected, abused girl with the weight of a degraded life driving her deeper and deeper into manic depression:<\/p>\n
\u2018She just sleeps all day<\/a> Elsie was my favourite song from the Monkey Grip EP. Chrissy\u2019s sensitive, sharp, slightly country twang cut through the heavily-laden atmosphere with pure poetry, full of knowing and compassion:<\/p>\n \u2018She never had an education She sang, danced \u2014 well hardly danced, more like twisted her body into torturous contortions as Elsie struggled belligerently in her straitjacket. I was witnessing the greatest piece of method acting I had ever seen, and for pure drama, she\u2019d out-Spielberged Spielberg. After an overwhelming seven minutes, the band faded down, as did the lights, leaving a stunned audience in the dark, wondering what was next. Like Elsie\u2019s relentless life coming out of a drug-protected oblivion, the music, the lights and Chrissy faded up again to a manic lead-guitar screaming crescendo that went on for another seven minutes. At the end I was exhausted, Chrissy was exhausted: she\u2019d put the entire audience through the mill. Such power \u2014 we\u2019d been to hell and back.<\/p>\n My daughter, Jacqui, turned to me and said, \u2018She\u2019s insane\u2019. The next morning it hit me. I rang Divinyls\u2019 manager, Andrew McManus (now more famous for his guest list at his Melbourne<\/a> Cup marquee), and arranged to meet Chrissy before her next gig at the Village Green Hotel<\/a> in Springvale to take photographs \u2014 \u2018I\u2019ve got to paint her for the Archibald.\u2019<\/p>\n At the time I\u2019d been managing my son Jamie\u2019s band, Degenerates, for a few years and had heard about Chrissy Amphlett\u2019s testy temperament. Rock \u2019n\u2019 roll was dominated by males, tough-arsed pub<\/a> owners and a dog-eat-dog hierarchy. Chrissy\u2019s protection was to get in first. Attack and keep them off-guard. I remember a drummer once telling me, \u2018Be careful mate, if she doesn\u2019t like you, she\u2019ll kill you.\u2019 Somehow, her stand-up-for-herself persona, combined with her great talent and wild beauty, made her even more appealing. I went to the Village Green with joyous trepidation. She handed me a scotch while replacing her street-vibe makeup with stage, painting<\/a> her siren lips pearl pink. There was tension in the air \u2014 I wanted to do a good job and had to get close quickly; she had to psych herself up for the gig. We chatted pleasantly while I waited patiently with my camera for the right shot \u2014 and there it was. I\u2019m not sure if she was starting to resent my presence but there was a moment of split personality in her eyes. One warm and inviting, the other with a hint of defiant nastiness. It was her. I had the shot, and headed off home.<\/p>\n The right photo well and good, but the test was to get all the bits I knew and felt about her into the painting. I slightly tilted the head and used the flow of her bright<\/a> auburn-red hair to create that Botticelli goddess \u2018S\u2019-shaped curve \u2014 the curve in his Birth of Venus. Luckily, her eyes came easily to me and were altered very little from the original photograph but it was her lips that needed the most devotion, the icing on the cake, or as I call it, the nipple on the breast. In my dreams they were lips where a teenage schoolboy could spend his entire summer holidays exploring. I had to catch the colour and light rolling through those deep valleys and hills, lusciously expressive, yet showing the stress, wear and tear of a singer\u2019s life on the road. I was happy, I\u2019d nailed it; even better, I sent her a photo and she loved it, too.<\/p>\n So I entered it into the 1990 Archibald Prize, believing that she had a good chance of winning. Somehow, I didn\u2019t look on it as my entry, but Chrissy and Elsie\u2019s, so I was pretty devastated for them when it not only didn\u2019t win, but didn\u2019t even make the cut for hanging in the competition. At least Elsie \u2018relates well to rejection\u2019. I didn\u2019t have the heart to tell Chrissy, I just left it.<\/p>\n
\nIn her squalid little slum
\nAnd takes little white pills
\nTo make her body feel all numb.\u2019<\/p>\n
\nUses life as her vocation
\nStanding on ledges
\nClinging to the edges
\nThe world\u2019s a hard place to land on.\u2019<\/p>\n
\n\u2018No\u2019, I replied: \u2018She\u2019s just great.\u2019 That night, I went to bed wondering how I could possibly thank Chrissy and Elsie for the experience. I had to do something.<\/p>\n