Showing posts with label photography. Show all posts
Showing posts with label photography. Show all posts

Sunday, December 27, 2015

Then and now: Wolfgang Sievers' Collins Street

Happy holidaze, everyone! I hope your festive season has been fab so far. Santa was kind enough to bring me Angus O’Callaghan’s long-awaited opus, Melbourne, which is almost blinding in its beauty—but also quite poignant in its portrayal of an era long-since past. Let’s face it: Melbourne may still be the best city in Australia, but it ain’t what it used to be, and O’Callaghan’s book is a stunning reminder of that.

But it’s not just O’Callaghan’s photos that have this effect on me. The photography of Wolfgang Sievers—subject of today’s post—can evoke a similar sense of longing for times gone by. I wonder if there’s a psychological term to describe nostalgia for a decade you never experienced in the first place? I know I’m not the only one afflicted by the condition.


But moving right along to Mr Sievers: and specifically, his photos of Collins Street, one of the CBD's main thoroughfares which was, as we will see, extremely photogenic in its 1960s heyday.

Collins Street. Photo by Wolfgang Sievers, courtesy National Libray of Australia; vn-3334045-v

An eye for style

As mentioned elsewhere in this blog, Wolfgang Sievers was a German-born photographer who immigrated to Australia and settled in Melbourne in 1938, setting up a studio in South Yarra. After WWII broke out, he volunteered for the Australian Army – just like his countryman Henry Talbot – and served between 1942 and 1946. (Actually, the Gestapo had their sights set on him for aerial photography duties with the Luftwaffe just before he fled Europe!). 

Once back in civilian society, Sievers moved his base of operations to Grosvenor Chambers, a suite of artists’ studios at the Parliament end of Collins Street that had once housed Aussie Impressionists Charles Condor, Arthur Streeton and Tom Roberts, among other luminaries. And when he wasn’t off taking eerily epic architectural photos and pics of menacing-looking industrial machinery, Sievers was outside snapping the local streetlife. 

Photo by Wolfgang Sievers, 1964; courtesy National Library of Australia; WS 2523-Na

I love the dappled shade on the footpath, and the shop signage: particularly the neon ‘Spectacle Makers’ sign. I mean, do optometrists even call glasses ‘spectacles’ these days? And judging by the trio of women strolling together in the foreground, and the lady going into a shop behind them, white was obviously a là mode.

Here's another one taken from a similar vantage point: 

Photo by Wolfgang Sievers, 1964, courtesy National Library of Australia, vn-3353435-v
Note the partially obscured sign for ‘La Caprice’. From the little I’ve been able to uncover, La Caprice was a café, the interior of which Sievers actually photographed in 1956. Now, I know it falls outside this blog's chronological remit, but get a load of this for some schmick mid-century style: 
La Caprice. Photo by Wolfgang Sievers, 1956; copyright holder unknown. I bet they made a mean espresso.

....And here’s how that particular stretch of Collins Street looks now: spot the difference! 
No caption required.

Admittedly, my amateur photographics don’t exactly enhance the aesthetics, but honestly, can anyone tell me what the hell’s happened to women’s fashion in the last 51 years? Not to mention trends in street umbrellas. 

Meanwhile, a spot of research prompted by the following photo of the Oriental Hotel yielded some interesting history. It turns out that this hotel, once located at 17 Collins Street, was quite the local legend once upon a time....
Photo by Wolfgang Sievers, copyright holder unknown
Not only did the Oriental establish Melbourne’s first side-walk café in 1958, it was also responsible for the city's first American-style cocktail bar (whatever that means), its first steak restaurant and its first discotheque. A favourite with the sophisticated set, the Oriental’s consciously Continental style was the impetus for the top end of Collins Street becoming known as the ‘Paris end’, a label which, as we all know, endures even now.

Mind you, not all those who frequented its public spaces were frocked-up in their Friday-night finest. A group of journalists from the Herald, who liked to call themselves the ‘Morning Tea Club’, used to meet at Oriental bar at 11am every day for their morning, ahem, heart-starter. I can only imagine how lively those sessions got...

Sadly, like the historic Southern Cross hotel, the Oriental was sacrificed in the name of ‘progress’, being demolished in 1971 to make way for Collins Place. These days, you’d never even guess it’d been there….


But we don't want to end on a sad note, right? 

So here's one final, fond farewell to Collins Street as seen through Sievers' keen eyes...
Photo by Wolfgang Sievers, courtesy National Library of Australia, vn-3353472-v

Sunday, June 28, 2015

Groovy guru: the photography of Henry Talbot


When you think about some of Australia’s biggest (and best) bands of the 60s --The Easybeats, Masters Apprentices, Purple Hearts et al – it’s impossible not to be struck by what a great contribution European and British migrants have made to this country’s rock’n’roll tradition.

The same can be said of our photography, with European-born luminaries like Bruno Benini, Wolfgang Sievers, Mark Strizic and Helmut Newton all having a profound impact on the national photographic scene during the 50s and 60s.


Henry Talbot
Henry Talbot (formerly known as Heinz Tichauer) was another one. Fleeing his natal Germany in 1939 to escape the Nazis, he ended up in England — interned as a suspected German agent! Along with thousands of other German and Italian detainees (some of whom were prisoners of war; many more of whom were Jewish refugees like Talbot), he was deported to Australia in 1940 aboard the notorious hell-ship, Dunera.

After spending a couple of years interned in Hay, NSW, Talbot volunteered for the Australian Army, where he became friends with fellow German refugee Helmut Newton. 

Both Talbot and Newton ended up in Melbourne, having established independent post-war careers as photographers. They went into partnership in 1956, specialising in fashion and advertising: needless to say, the Newton & Talbot Studio became one of Melbourne’s most successful. 


Work it, baby!

Photo: Henry Talbot, 1967 (copyright, Lynette Anne Talbot)
Groovy OR WHAT?! Sure, Melbourne was hip in the 1960s (or this blog wouldn’t exist) but this photo, part of an ad for New York fashion label Brooks Brothers, takes it to a whole new level. That sports car looks like it’s been snatched from the set of some trippy late-60s Italian spy flick, while the slinky chick in the background could be Emma Peel’s — or Modesty Blaise’s — stunt double. The guy’s pretty sharp too.

Brooks Brothers were eager to cash in on the burgeoning Aussie youth market — and Henry Talbot was just the man to help them, with his unerring eye for the aesthetics and vibe of the times. The fabtastic stunner below is part of the same series. David Bailey, eat yer heart out!
Photo: Henry Talbot, 1967 (copyright, Lynette Anne Talbot)
In 1959, the Newton and Talbot studio scored a lucrative contract with the Australian Wool Board, and moved their studio into the basement of the Board’s office in Bourke Street. Concerned about the rising popularity of synthetic fabrics, the AWB was relying on Talbot and Newton to give it the cred it needed to remain competitive in a market that was becoming ever more youth-focused. 

This gorgeous promo photo, taken by Talbot for them in 1964, certainly delivers the goods.
Photo: Henry Talbot, 1964 (copyright, Lynette Anne Talbot)
When Newton departed for London on a self-declared mission to become the world’s greatest photographer some time around 1960, Talbot carried on alone, racking up an impressive folio of work for a who’s who of big-name clients such as Vogue, Vanity Fair, Sportscraft, General Motors and Holeproof Hosiery (below). 
Photo: Henry Talbot, 1962 (copyright, Lynette Anne Talbot)
Dating from 1962, this glamorous tableau was shot on location at the long-since closed Walnut Tree restaurant in William Street, Melbourne. It’s especially noteworthy for the male model standing in the background – none other than Bruno Benini before he became a fashion photographer himself! (Anyone else think the dark-haired bloke at the front looks like Don Draper’s cosmic twin?)
Photo: Henry Talbot, 1965 (image found on http://www.joseflebovicgallery.com/)
A vintage print of this candid and evocative photo appears to be for sale on the Josef Lebovic Gallery website, with the following accreditation:
Helmut Newton...and Henry Talbot. [Behind the Scenes at a Fashion Parade], c1965…Studio stamp reads "Helmut Newton & Henry Talbot Pty Ltd. Latrobe Court, 165 Latrobe St. [Melbourne]. [Ph] 662 2199, 662 2208. No. 506/35 Pos. 186." 
I’m guessing it’s a Talbot: by 1965, Newton was long gone, pursuing world domination on the other side of the world.

Here’s one final jaw-dropping example of Talbot’s work, taken for Fibremakers Australia. I mean, wowsers! Not only does this photo of Jackie Holme (Billy Thorpe's ex) grooving against the Parkes telescope tap into the decade’s obsession with all things space-age, it also captures its sense of freedom, fun and female fabulosity. They don’t make fashion photography like this any more…
Photo: Henry Talbot, 1964/5; National Gallery of Australia; NGA 89.1436
Given his eye-catching style, it’s no surprise to learn that Henry Talbot won a raft of prestigious awards during the 50s and 60s, the Australian Photo News’s Fashion Photographer of the Year (1958) and a Distinctive Merit Award from the Art Directors Club of Melbourne (1968) among them. 

He went on to Head of the Photography Department at the School of Art and Design at Preston, (later the Phillip Institute of Technology), from 1973 to 1985, after which he moved to Sydney with his family. He died of cancer in 1999, aged 79.

UPDATE
There is currently an exhibition dedicated to Henry Talbot's photography at the Ian Potter Centre in Federation Square, which is well worth a visit. You can see the special e-book the gallery has prepared to mark the occasion here.

Related posts



Saturday, June 13, 2015

Everyday Melbourne in the 1960s


Big news in Batmania! I have an article about The Mystrys — a sensational but short-lived band previously profiled in this blog — in the forthcoming issue of legendary British magazine, Shindig! I’ll be ppublishing a couple more blog posts about the group to mark the occasion, based on interviews I did with a couple of the key players, but while they’re taking shape, I wanted to share this interesting photo-essay about ‘everyday life in Melbourne in the Swinging Sixties’ that I found on The Herald Sun website.

Naturally, the usual suspects are present — The Beatles, The Stones, Normie Rowe, Jean Shrimpton at the Melbourne Cup. But there’s also Graham Kennedy, a haunting shot of Ronald Ryan and two photos of the footballer that even folks who couldn’t give two flying whatevers about AFL can’t help liking... Ron Barassi. 
Don't knock the Ron: Barassi, Hawaiian style. Photo: Herald Sun
Whether he’s helping women in distress, pulling folks from flaming cars, bowling in Melbourne’s first ten-pin bowling alley, posing with Hawaiian beauties or (so I hear) kicking a footy, Ron Barassi is The Man.


New Australians

A couple of pics of European migrants arriving in Melbourne provide a stark contrast to the current immigration situation. As the exuberant scene below illustrates, approaching Aussie shores by boat 50 years ago was a joyous rather than fraught experience. And not a border control official in sight..
Migrants on the Flavia arriving at Station Pier in 1964. Photo: Herald Sun

Hitting the streets

Unsurprisingly, the street scenes included in the photo essay are wonderful, not least for the drool-worthy cars upping the aesthetic ante. Bourke, Flinders and Spencer Streets all look distinctly more glamorous than they do these days, but this one of Sydney Road is pick of the bunch. Did someone say Holden heaven?
Sydney Road (1964)  looking somewhat less chaotic than it does today. Photo: Herald Sun
Meanwhile, a selection of suburban shots evoke a palpable sense of nostalgia for simpler times. Check out this back-street billy cart race: can you imagine that happening in this era of helicopter parents and PlayStation? 


Full tilt! Billy cart kids in action, 1962. Photo: Herald Sun

Hello, ladies!

But pièce de resistance is this stylin’ line-up of likely lads taken from a spread in the newspaper’s fashion pages in 1967 (is that John Steed on the left?). While I’ve featured plenty of women’s fashion in this blog, local male fashion snaps from the decade are a rare treat. 
Five alive: men's fashion in Melbourne, 1967. Photo: Herald Sun
Factor in several photos of children, the Royal Show and the Queen, and one can't help thinking that the 1960s portrayed by The Herald Sun isn't so much swinging as downright sweet... 

All these pics and more can be seen here: Photo essay: Take a look back at everyday life in Melbourne in the Swinging Sixties

Sunday, December 28, 2014

Rennie Ellis: Life’s a Beach

Hark! Is that summer I sense, tentatively showing its unfamiliar face? Of course, I could be speaking too soon, but it does seem to be warming up here in sunny (yes, you read that correctly) Melbourne. That calls for a celebratory end-of-year post featuring the early beach photography of my favourite Aussie photographer, Rennie Ellis…

Back view, Lorne, c. 1968. Photo: Rennie Ellis, copyright Rennie Ellis Photographic Archive
Born in Brighton and educated at Brighton Grammar, Reynolds Mark ‘Rennie’ Ellis (1940-2003) was something of a Renaissance man, working as an advertising copywriter, seaman, creative director, author, gallery owner and TV presenter over the course of his career. But more than anything, he was a photographer, with an instinct for capturing Australian society in all its idiosyncratic glory.
Union Jack, Lorne, c. 1968. Photo: Rennie Ellis, copyright: Rennie Ellis Photographic Archive.
While his subject matter was by no means limited to home soil (he took photos all over the world), it’s his Australian work that resonates most with me. According to the Rennie Ellis Photographic Archive, maintained by his second wife and his former assistant, Ellis saw his photographic excursions as a series of encounters with other people's lives. And what people they were: high-spirited and hedonistic, fun-loving and footloose, unconventional and unselfconscious.

Four sunbathers, Lorne 1968. Photo: Rennie Ellis, copyright Rennie Ellis Photographic Archive.
It was during the 1970s and 1980s that Ellis really developed his signature style, taking iconic photos of Aussies at play: at parties, rock concerts, nightclubs, footy matches, the races — and, of course, the beach. But even in the late 1960s, the signs were there, as the photos featured in this post attest.

Surfer with girl, Lorne, c. 1968. Photo: Rennie Ellis, copyright Rennie Ellis Photographic Archive.
Apparently, Lorne was the place to be on the Great Ocean Road during the 1950s and 1960s (stay tuned for a post on that soon), a bohemian hot-spot which attracted truckloads of young groovers from Melbourne during summer. By night, they’d hit the Wild Colonial Club to catch all the era’s hippest bands; by day, they could be found swimming, surfing and sunning themselves at the beach.

And who better to immortalise this swinging seaside scene than Rennie Ellis?

Volleyball, Lorne, c. 1967. Photo: Rennie Ellis, copyright Rennie Ellis Photographic Archive.
Lindy Hobbs Surfing World, Lorne, c. 1968. Photo: Rennie Ellis, copyright Rennie Ellis Photographic Archive
Just as the music of The Easybeats or the sight of a koala in its natural habitat inspire a stronger sense of patriotism in me than usual, the same can be said of Rennie Ellis’s portraits. There’s something about their joyful exuberance, and their complete absence of value judgements, that makes me feel proud to be an Aussie. (And trust me, there’s not a lot these days that does..).

Want more Rennie? Check out the fantastic Rennie Ellis Photographic Archive NOW!

Sunday, July 13, 2014

Mystery girl: Jan Stewart

In this day and age of digital footprints and full-disclosure Facebooking, there’s little that a good Google search won’t reveal. However, as I discovered today, the worldwide web falls intriguingly short when it comes to 1960s fashion model Jan Stewart.

Jan glamming it up in some swinging ski gear. Photo: Janice Wakely
As far as I know, Jan was from Melbourne, and worked with local photographers such as Bruno Benini (profiled in an earlier blog post) and Maggie Diaz.
Reclining Jan. Photo: Maggie Diaz
With her Audrey Hepburnesque features and natural grace, she was every bit as divine as my favourite 60s model Jean Shrimpton — but clearly didn’t hit the same heights of fame, because I simply can’t find anything about her online except a few photos and an interview snippet where she recalls the staging of this fabulous shot in a Little Collins Street building site for Sportsgirl:


Frock with a view. Photo: Bruno Benini
So, unless anyone out there can tell me more about this beautiful mystery babe, we’ll just have to be content to swoon over her… Besides, as they say, a picture’s worth a thousand words.

Jan doing Jean! How Shrimpton is this? I have a postcard of this pic somewhere, from that 2011 Como House exhibition, Mannequin. Wish I could find it so I could give the photographer due credit...
Yogi Jan. Photographer also unknown.

Monday, March 31, 2014

Then and now: Tram Town!

And now for something completely different: the memories — and amazing photos — of an ex-tram-driver. As someone who’s regularly heard bad-mouthing her local tram in no uncertain terms (96, I hate you!), this has been quite a revelation.

Peter Bruce started with the Melbourne and Metropolitan Tramways Board in 1966, and worked for them until 1977. A railway enthusiast since he was a toddler, his interest in trams started with the job. He also happened to be handy with a camera, which resulted in photos like this:

St Kilda Road, c. 1968. Photo: Peter Bruce
This photo is both familiar and strange. In the foreground, we see the number 8 tram to Toorak, still going strong today. (Peter tells me the number 4 behind it has since become the 67 service.) The iconic Flinders Street Station dome is hard to miss, and the spire of St Paul’s Cathedral dominates the horizon.

In the distance, the former Carlton and United Breweries site is just visible, with its rooftop logo and a ghostly ‘Victoria Bitter’ sign beneath it. ‘The Wales’ (Bank of NSW) is now Westpac (in a different building), while the Olympic Tyres sign twinkling coquettishly in the centre of the image also appears in the Angus O’Callaghan photo I featured in my first blog post. The Arts Centre had yet to be built (construction started in 1973), and the me Bank skyscraper is nowhere to be seen.

Peter explains another big difference between then and now: “City Road, which now passes underneath St Kilda Road, crossed on the level then. You can see distant traffic there in this shot.” And speaking of traffic, check out all the cool cars: a Mini, the front right corner of a Holden, a few Beetles, just to name a few.

Flash forward to 2014, and this is what you get:

Try as I might, I couldn't get both the Flinders St station dome and the Cathedral spire to show.

Peak hour squeeze

Hands up who finds the peak-hour tram-crush hard to endure? Rest assured, you’re not the first. Says Peter, trams “could be very crowded especially in the am and pm peaks and the connies [conductors] had to work hard to collect all the fares and keep the car (tram, but trammies always referred to them as cars) as close to time as possible. That required close co-operation between driver and conductor.” Beats Myki’s uncooperative attitude, I reckon.

Clarendon St & Albert Rd, c. 1968. Photo: Peter Bruce
The photo above shows the number 12 — “the equivalent of today’s 112 which runs from the corner of Fitzroy and Park Streets, St Kilda to St. Vincent’s Plaza.” This is what it looks like now:
To take this photo, I had to brave a tsunami of 4WDs and luxury sedans flooding out of Albert Park (what is it about so-called ‘sporty’ people and their SUVs?). While the gate, tree and house to the left remain, the pub and dry-cleaner to the right are no longer there.

Breakdown shakedown

Asked about whether trams broke down very often back in the 60s and 70s, Peter says, “The old trams didn’t break down very often and we’d always try to limp along so as not to delay the rest of the service.” (so what happened, Metlink?)

But he’s pretty diplomatic about how today’s trams stack up in comparison. “Trammies then were expected to use initiative to prevent avoidable delays; today they are not allowed to. Risk management is necessary but it has become an industry and thus has to continually justify its existence by finding more risks.”

Park Street at Kingsway, South Melbourne, c. 1968. Photo: Peter Bruce
There’s the number 4 again, at an intersection that’s completely unrecognisable today, Park Street and Kingsway. The 67 no longer takes that route, but then, I doubt you can get Voca dictation machines anymore either, if the photo below is any indication...

Believe it or not, this is the Park Street-Kingsway intersection today

Fairweather friends

One of my pet tram peeves is how they immediately go haywire when the weather changes. Peter recalls them being a bit hardier back in the day: “The weather, rain that is, had to be pretty heavy and sustained to badly affect the service, basically there had to be about 200mm flooding over the tracks.”
Number 11 at Park and Heather Streets, South Melbourne, c. 1968. Photo: Peter Bruce
“Number 11 was not a passenger-carrying tram. It was what was called a Scrubber Car and it existed to clean the head of the rail. The service at this intersection is the same today, route 1, South Melbourne Beach-East Coburg.”
 

  
As the photo above so hideously demonstrates, Park Street is no longer a swoonfest of EHs, Cortinas, original Mini wagons, EJs and other automotive gems. The milk bar advertising Craven Filter ciggies on the corner now appears to be vacant, if not downright derelict (that’s it with the graffitied wall), and a roundabout has since been built to moderate the traffic flow (interestingly, Peter recalls that “motor traffic in those days was much lighter but much less disciplined!”)

One thing that’s much the same is the towering council flat high-rise up the top of Park Street.


The television effect

Perhaps the most fascinating difference between then and now is the impact of television on peoples’ lifestyles (and their tram-going habits). Whereas the majority of PT passengers these days sit there glued to their mobile device, back then, people had to wait til they got home for their entertainment fix — the goggle box.

As Peter explains: “After about 8.00 or 8.30pm, the trams didn’t carry many people and that has to do with popular culture, TV. Most of the suburban picture theatres had closed down shortly after the advent of TV in 1956-57 and most people were glued to the box after they got home from work.”
 

Well, with shows like Go!! to be had, who could blame them?

A note about Peter’s photography:
“In 1968 I bought a Pentax Spotmatic which was a camera and lens system which enabled enthusiastic amateurs to buy a great camera at a reasonably affordable price. Most of the Japanese optical companies made very good cameras in this price range. I nearly always took black and white photos as I had my own darkroom.”


By the way, any trainspotters out there might like Peter's blog, I Was a Teenage Railfan, while tram-nuts will dig his online photo gallery here.

Related post: 
Then and now

Thursday, March 20, 2014

Bruno Benini

As the sweetheart-darlings among you would undoubtedly know, it’s the Virgin Australia Melbourne Fashion Festival this week. To be honest, I don’t consider that great cause for excitement, given the banality of most Aussie fashion these days, but it’s a mighty convenient excuse for today’s post.

After all, if today’s fashion looked anything like this, I’d be fighting my way to the front row by any means possible...


Behold, the genius eye of fashion photographer Bruno Benini (1925-2001)!
Too cool for words. Model Jan Stewart wearing Simona mini-dress for Sportsgirl, 1966. 
Photo: Powerhouse Museum Bruno Benini archive collection
These boots were made for posin'. Unknown model in a Sharene Creations number, 1963.
Photo: Powerhouse Museum Bruno Benini archive collection
Born in a medieval Italian town, Bruno Benini migrated to Melbourne with his family in 1935. After studying science at Melbourne Technical College (now RMIT) and working briefly at the Holden plant in Fisherman’s Bend, he returned to Italy by way of London in the late 1940s. It was during this trip he decided he wanted to be a fashion photographer.
Ahoy! Vida Elekna, Lynn Richmond, Terry Taylor and Gay Vardis at Station Pier, 1962.
Photo: Powerhouse Museum Bruno Benini archive collection

His first studio, established in the mid-50s, was in Cotham Road, Kew. While he was honing his skills, he worked as a male model, learning the finer points of lighting and fashion photography in the process.
Gillian Dickson in grey flannel Sportsgirl suit with four cut outs of model Eric Hoek, 1965
Photo: Powerhouse Museum Bruno Benini archive collection

After Kew, he moved his studio to several locations around the city before settling in McKillop Street. This is where he was based during the 1960s, sharing the space with his wife Hazel, a fashion display artist/stylist and his regular collaborator.

Talk about a dynamic duo: Bruno and Hazel singlehandedly cranked up the fabulosity factor of Melbourne’s fashion scene for many years!

Jan Stewart glamming it up in Stephen Glass evening gown, at the Lido nightclub (Russell St), 1968
Photo: Powerhouse Museum Bruno Benini archive collection
Benini’s photos were primarily black and white, and appeared in publications across the country. He photographed all the top models of the time, from the divine Jan Stewart (girl crush alert!) and Maggie Taberer to Janice Wakeley and Maggi Eckhardt, capturing them in beautiful portraits that simultaneously stand the test of time and encapsulate their time.
Marg Hanna in heart-stoppingly groovy Norma Tullo ensemble, 1969
Photo: Powerhouse Museum Bruno Benini archive collection
Benini’s photos are so much more than mere fashion snaps. They’re works of art, drop-dead gorgeous and super-creative, with a fun-loving streak a mile wide running through them. I love that they often feature recognisable Melbourne locations in them, yet there’s absolutely nothing provincial about them — they are universally swoonworthy.
Where oh where can I find a frock like this? Anne Hamilton in Simona dress for Sportsgirl, Black Rock, 1966. 
Photo: Powerhouse Museum Bruno Benini archive collection
Check out the Powerhouse Museum’s inspiring Bruno Benini photography archive for more photos of his work, spanning the 50s to the 80s.

Related post:
Groovy Prue

Thursday, February 13, 2014

Then and now

Where once there was this…
Wolfgang Sievers: Elegant shopping at La Pastorale Frocks, 125 Collins Street, Melbourne, 1965 (National Library of Australia)

…and this…
Wolfgang Sievers: Pedestrians in Collins Street, 1964

There is now this…
Image: Grand Hyatt Hotel (http://melbourne.grand.hyatt.com/)
Was La Pastorale boutique one of Whelan the Wrecker’s innumerable demolition victims? I’ve been unable to find out. But the demolition company did become notorious in the 1960s for its role in the destruction of many Collins Street buildings, so it’s not inconceivable. 

To be honest, I have nothing against the Grand Hyatt (well, besides the fact that it's far beyond my budget), and it certainly lives up to expectations of what a five-star hotel at the Paris end of Collins Street should be … but it’s not exactly La Pastorale, is it? Not a crazy paving stone in sight, much less a hoity-toity shop mannequin.


A note about the photographer
You’ll be seeing a lot more of Wolfgang Sievers’ (AO) work on this blog. A German-born photographer who arrived in Australia aboard the P&O Cormoran in 1938, he settled in Melbourne, where he lived until his death in 2007 at the ripe old age of 93. 

Having fled Germany after being conscripted by the Luftwaffe to be an aerial photographer, he later enlisted in the Australian Army, serving between 1942 and 1946. On his return, he built a prolific and influential career photographing primarily architecture and industry.