Our world today is saturated with images, especially photographs, to the point where it is easy to find a place familiar without ever traveling there. There is an image of Sydney that most tourists will picture before even arriving: the bustling boatyard of the  Harbor, the distinctive white peaks of the Sydney Opera House, and the great arch of the Sydney Harbor Bridge. When I was preparing to travel to Australia, I came to realize how little I knew about Sydney beyond its landmarks. Studying art history at the University of Melbourne introduced me to a unique and complicated tradition of art in Australia that I had rarely thought about, having learned art history primarily within the Western art canon. When the time came for me to visit Sydney for the first time, I was primed to think critically about the city’s history, artistic traditions, distinctive architecture, and popular landmarks through a more informed lens.

My sister flew to Australia to spend ten days with me over Easter Break, and we embarked on a road trip from Melbourne to the Gold Coast. Our first stop was spending 24 hours in Sydney. Having studied the city through an artistic lens I was eager to explore both the city itself and the artwork the city houses in its distinguished museums. My first impression was like stepping into a living postcard. The historic harbor-side part of town, The Rocks, is within walking distance to all the aforementioned icons of the city.

Visiting the Sydney Harbour Bridge made me think about many discussions I had been having in my classes at the University of Melbourne. In my Australian Art class I had been learning about artists in Sydney depicting the construction of the Sydney Harbour Bridge during the 1920s and 1930s. The paintings of both Dorrit Black and Grace Cossington Smith capture the bridge’s construction in an idealistic light. The construction and the bridge itself was largely portrayed as a gleaming beacon of modern technology and innovation, even in its unfinished state – or perhaps especially in its unfinished state. It represented the future, the modern age, and the possibilities of technology. I don’t pretend to know an extensive amount about the bridge itself, but I remember thinking about these paintings as I approached the bridge in person. I thought about what it meant as a national symbol at the time, and how it continues to define Sydney’s landscape.

A popular tourist activity is climbing the Sydney Harbour Bridge. You pay a fee to be harnessed into a track along a stairway, then spend hours walking on top of the curved arch of the bridge to reach the peak. Having seen photos from this vantage point on the internet, I know the view is breathtaking and I suspect the experience of being on the bridge is unimaginable. My sister and I chose not to climb the bridge and instead walked along the bridge’s busy highway at road level until we decided to turn around.

This allowed us to read the dedication plaques, admire the architecture from below, and see the city from over the harbor. It was still a breathtaking scene, but marred by the unavoidable fence blocking the view. Parts of the fence provide about a 6-inch gap between the stone of the bridge and the metal of the barrier, so this was our primary viewing window.

At the University of Melbourne I was taking a class on Street Art which brought up numerous questions of how people occupy, perceive, and interact with spaces. When walking across the Sydney Harbor Bridge with its massive stone masonry, imposing archways, and intricate metalwork, I was distracted by the small tags and names written in marker directly on the rusting metal, and a few locks attached to the grate with initials. This is the evidence of the human impulse to mark one’s presence in the space, leave proof of their interaction with the metal, and with the bridge. While an austere metal gate may seem unimpressive and commonplace, it was built along a major landmark whose image has become synonymous with the landscape and character of Sydney and even the country as a whole. To leave one’s mark on such a national symbol is no small act.

When I took the photograph looking through a padlocked square hinged window within the barrier on the Harbor Bridge, I was thinking about the graffiti tags and inscriptions as the residue of human interaction. I was thinking about the bridge as a national symbol and an emblem of modernity. I was also thinking about the multiplicity of perspectives and how postcard photographs can do little to capture the true experience of a place. Rather than constantly trying to avoid photographing the barrier, I used it to frame the bridge itself and the city beyond. The barrier could be read as being a visual obstacle in the photo, denying the viewer the satisfaction of a beautiful, unflawed depiction of the bridge – or from the bridge. However, the barrier too shows human connection to place, and how barriers on bridges can themselves be made into bridges between people. While I have no way of knowing the individuals whose names I read on the bridge, I knew that they had stood in the same place I was standing, seen the same view, and are a part of their own story. Despite their corporeal absence, it felt as if all our paths had crossed.

Bibliography

“The Bridge In-curve.” National Gallery of Victoria Collection Online. National Gallery of Victoria, n.d. Web. 02 Feb. 2017.

“Sydney Harbour Bridge.” Department of the Prime Minister and Cabinet. Digital Transformation Agency, 30 Mar. 2015. Web. 02 Feb. 2017.

 

Claire is a senior Studio Art major from Appleton, Maine. Concentrating in both photography and painting, her artwork gravitates towards using photography along with other media. She studied abroad in Melbourne, Australia for one semester in Spring of 2016. While abroad, Claire enriched her artistic practice with perspectives in Australian art, printing and collage techniques, and Melbourne’s street art scene. Claire enjoys knitting, dancing, antiquing, and nordic skiing.

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