Michael Leunig was my hero – then he became my colleague and ...
Opinion
December 20, 2024 — 11.59am
December 20, 2024 — 11.59am
As a schoolkid, Michael Leunig was playing footy when he found himself with the ball running into an open goal. Had it been anyone else, the ball would have been theatrically kicked through the big sticks into the next paddock. Michael, however, he told me years later, found himself wondering, “What if I just keep running?” Which he did, only to find a certain goal was now only a behind and the crowd that was cheering was now groaning in frustration. It seems the Leunig template was established early.
Leunig was already a hero of mine when I met him in 1986, his books providing a galaxy I could float in for many hours. He was 19 years older than me and knew how I regarded him, but never talked at me. He asked lots of questions and made me feel like we were equals, even though we clearly weren’t.
Age colleagues and friends: Michael Leunig and Jim Pavlidis at a Queenscliff Gallery function in 2019.
He seemed to know people everywhere and had heaps of stories, many of which were so outrageous that I dared not ask if they were true. Apparently following the death of the controversial Indian mystic Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh, there was a Leunig book among his possessions. Holy man indeed, though not beyond the realm of possibility that he was a Leunig fan.
Art was a favourite topic of conversation. Not so much, “Which art do you like?” But the philosophy and ideas behind creative expression. In a self-pitying moment one day, I expressed frustration at my lack of artistic technical finesse. Michael wouldn’t have a bar of it, and simply said, “Jim, think of your art like it’s a three-legged dog, you don’t put it down because it’s missing a leg.”
Sometimes, he’d leave things on my desk apropos of nothing. I still have the photocopied page from Hermann Hesse’s Wandering with the highlighted line, “You are a bird in a storm, let it storm!”
You could ask how any of this was of benefit to my work at The Age, but for Leunig all knowledge was nourishment for the soul. Everything was meaningful to him, and nothing was too big or too small to discuss. All things beautiful and all things absurd provided equally valuable insights into the human condition.
A few years ago, I asked what the hell he was doing sending a text at 3am about a cave he’d read about near Athens, where strange things were happening. I suggested he should simply look at an art book. His answer was typical: “I do art books at 3am, also I do a cup of tea. I do philosophy. I do solitude and the angels visit me. Three in the morning is half-time. I have a break, then back to sleep for the second half. The last quarter is when the good dreams happen.”
In 1991, after ear-bashing Leunig about needing to get an art studio for a couple of years, I finally bit the bullet. It was a room in a pub in La Trobe Street. Living there were several old men who you might regard as “down and out”. It wasn’t the healthiest of environments to milk the creative juices – there would be lots of juice, but not much creativity. Leunig was concerned about this but did not lecture me. Instead, after a couple of months, he called to say he’d visited some friends at a Richmond studio complex, there was a vacancy there, and, “I reckon it could be good for you.” I took the studio, flattered that he had thought about me, but realised later that it was a gesture borne out of genuine concern, but handled in a gentle Leunig way.
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His “Bob Dylan goes electric” moment came in the late ’90s when Michael returned to doing political cartoons in the weekday Age. He could have remained a folkie, making his pointed observations from behind his brilliant shield of whimsy. But now, he willingly turned himself into a target by commenting directly on the news of the day. Soon the criticism began. It seemed very brave to me, as until then, I’d never heard anything negative said about him.
Leunig’s critics would say he was out of touch with the current thinking. But he would counter that fashions may change, but the human condition doesn’t. I didn’t agree with everything he said, but we could have a decent natter about it and our conversations always ended on a happy note.
A gift from Michael Leunig to Jim Pavlidis. Credit:
In 2008, I had some work dealings with the director of what was then the Jewish Holocaust Museum and Research Centre. Leunig’s name wasn’t popular there. It was widely believed that he was anti-Israel. I knew this wasn’t the case, as Leunig’s position was never about taking a side. It was simply that he believed any situation where innocent people were being killed cannot be considered acceptable – humanity must always come before politics. I invited the director to come to my house and meet Michael over a cuppa and talk about this, which he accepted. It was a really good meeting.
My time at The Age ended the same time Michael’s remaining weekly cartoon for The Age was axed. Though he knew our circumstances were very different – I took a voluntary redundancy – he called a few times to ask how I was doing. I know he knew I was OK, but that he needed to talk. We talked about The Age a bit but quickly moved onto the usual nonsense, which in recent times, had expanded to include the topic of ride-on lawnmowers!
There will be many more words written about Michael Leunig by people who knew him more closely than I did. I hope that writing these words paints a small picture of a unique talent and wonderful person I loved and was lucky to call a friend.
Jim Pavlidis is an artist and former Age visual journalist.
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