Maeve: Hi, I’m Maeve Marsden and you’re listening to Queerstories. Along with an outstanding career as a queer social documentary photographer & exhibiting artist and curator, C.Moore Hardy was also a Director of PRIDE, (lesbian & gay community centre) in the 1980s. She was born in Darlinghurst and trained at National Art School, College of Fine Arts, and Sydney College of the Arts, and she has successfully left the corporate and community commercial photography world with her life intact. She performed this story at the State Library of NSW.
C. Moore:
I was hanging around the pre-production stage of Sleazeball ’91, when Fiona Cunningham-Reid introduced me to her producer and sound engineer for a documentary that they were making for channel 4 in London. Martien didn’t say much, but was enthusiastic enough to show me up to the rafters in the Royal Hall of Industries, from where she thought I would have a great shot…little did she know that great heights are not a turn on for me. I didn’t have a nose bleed but I was pretty impressed that she was nimble enough to show me the way up to the rafters.
At that time I had been a freelance photographer working for Sydney Star Observer, documenting Sleaze, Mardi Gras, Protests & rallies for a number of years. I had my routines for the big parties, for example ensure that I was on the ‘media podiums’ before any of the shows & mingle and shoot the people who appealed to my sensibilities. ie: imaginative costumes or attitudes.
The night of the party it was around 4am in the VIP guest bar when Fiona offered to buy me a drink, we chatted a little while and then Martien showed up again. Martien was talking about things and accidentally dropped something, as she picked it up I pinched her bottom, she turned around smiling and the next thing I remember we started kissing at the bar. Phillipa Playford still remembers both of us coming away with smeared lipstick (my lipstick) all over our faces. We then walked around the party with 10,000 other queers completing our mutual work obligations, until it was around 6am when, I asked her that classic question “your place or mine?” I was smitten. That is some 32 years ago now.
My career as a social documentary photographer was not my 1st choice…I have been a waitress, housemaid, secretary, registered nurse, cleaner, palliative care nurse, student a number of times and someone who likes to read, do things and learn by mistakes.
Having no defined career path when I left high school it took a while to settle into where I really wanted to go. A couple of mental breakdowns enabled me to learn that when I was not happy, my life/psyche would not function. Art was my way to a healthier expression of myself. We 2nd children have very specific psychological issues that I am sure have been documented widely.
I have always put diaries together to connect memories, films, exhibitions and things that are significant to me. A sort of tangible way to create a place for myself and gain an understanding of where I fit. And they’re gonna be in the archives too down in Victoria.
When I was a registered nurse, I was taught how to observe people, especially post op when a patient’s colour can change, their pain levels are heightened, and they may or may not be in trouble. Observations and watching people have been a pleasure and a major skill that I have developed my entire life – as I have been what I call a ‘professional voyeur’ for a long time. I’m curious about the human condition and watching how people act, dance, laugh, play and respond to situations fascinates me. As no 2 in the family, I took a backseat to my older sister, I followed in her footsteps in the early years as we were almost twins.
I have grown to enjoy discussing, creating & making art that can express my feelings, politics & voice in many different ways.
My older sister died when she was 49, of multiple myeloma. Martien and I had just come home from our annual trip to visit her parents and my father phoned to ask me…’did I want the good news or the bad news?’ He didn’t wait to tell me the good news, he just blurted out that Margaret Mary had cancer.
We had been very close, 11 months apart at birth, our mother would dress us in similar outfits to save money on cloth (very Sound of Music stuff). We were part of the 10% at school who caused a little trouble with the nuns. She was the eldest of 5 children & expected to be ‘the responsible one’, I didn’t have that role, as my father had hoped for a boy & was disappointed until the 3rd child was born a boy.
My father was devastated when my sister was diagnosed, we all were, however, I managed to organise the family to spend time with her in the 5 months she had left. My sister came home to be cared for by my parents, who were both retired and in their late 70’s. Being a nurse, I went to the St Vincent’s palliative care centre to find out what my sister’s diagnosis meant. I was told “‘it was going to be the quality of life, not the quantity of life’ that Margaret Mary had remaining.
Realising that my parents would need support looking after my sister at home, I organised for my siblings to spend a weekend each with her, so that our parents could get away and recharge their batteries a little.
My sister spent quality time with us all towards the end, although she didn’t die at home. Her last days were in a hospital bed after a final bone marrow transfusion.
Just prior to the transfusion, I had one last conversation with her, about who would look after mum and dad when she was no longer there, as she had been their first child & a go-between all her life. She thought they needed her, but I comforted her and said she need not worry about them because they had each other and that she should look after herself. I gave her permission to leave. Seems sort of queer to me.
Then 12 months later, my father died, and left me my mother… For 17 years. In my experience, We Queers are usually expected to supply the support to senior family members, as we often have no children of our own.
Death is what it is, but as friends leave, I feel the resilience that I have learnt is directly related to my experiences as a queer person. Especially as so many friends had died of aids/HIV.
Always aware of the other’s experience, careful about what we should or shouldn’t do, and finally, respectful of what we have achieved. Life is short and we should be pleased with what we have achieved for our community, our lovers and our friends and if we are lucky enough to still have them, our families.
As a 68 year old with an amazing life partner, I feel privileged to be standing here & proud of the work I have in this exhibition and the City of Sydney Archives which are free for academics and future queers to access and they’re online.
But don’t be deceived by my illustrious career, it takes many individuals to have the community we have now. Always be vigilant & prepared to go to the streets to support, fight and be a part of the progressive side of culture. Listen to those, like us who need support, trans, indigenous, refugees and disabled. We the marginalised need to stick together and support each others rights.
And as marginalised individuals. We should understand how we need to vote yes for a voice to parliament. Listen to First Nations people.
Thank you.
Maeve: Thanks for listening. Don’t forget to check out Queerstories on Patreon where you can support the project for as little as $1 per month. Follow Queerstories on Facebook for news and event updates.
