If there is one thing we can be sure of it is impermanence. The years make this clear, the ending of one and the beginning of another. And the seasons makes this clear too, the delicious slip from summer to autumn, which will be here before we know it, the discolouring of leaves, the fall, the shorter days, the darkness. Days always end in darkness; life doesn’t know anything else. The same way there’s always light at dawn, once night has had its run.
Sylvie Stern: the matron of the undergound. (Image courtesy of Canberra Contemporary Art Space)
Lately I’ve been remembering a very specific piece of impermanence from my past, a relatively short period when the working week would end in a blast of unadulterated adventure. Friday evening: some beers here, some cocktails there, and then at midnight – whoosh – into Civic I went on a rickety old pushbike. Up the stairs I climbed and into the club I disappeared.
Heaven: for those of a certain age it was an institution.
In one sense it was just another nightclub, a gay and lesbian nightclub sure, but really it was nothing more than a big black box with a DJ booth and mirror-ball. Every so often effort would be put into the decorations: some sort of material – white or red – draped from the ceiling as if a wedding might take place. But nightclubs aren’t about decoration. They’re about the music, and the dancing, and the people, and the promise that this look might result in that look, which might end up somewhere hoped for but never expected.
This nightclub, however, our nightclub, Heaven, was about more than any of this. It was about a woman with the wildest black hair, a deep, husky voice, and thongs on her feet. At around 1am she’d stop the music to say happy birthday to a regular, hand out some CDs, and introduce the show (we never knew what we’d get). We loved her. For the way she was always there, as though we were partying in her house. For the way she kept the place running without a heavy hand. For the way she’d see us during the week and smile, despite this being a completely different universe. And when Heaven closed once and for all, we kept on loving her. Because she never forgot us. Because she still wanted the best for us.
So, while there’s no escaping impermanence, there’s also no escaping the wonderful, generous, loving life of the matron of the underground: Sylvie Stern.
(First published in Panorama, the Canberra Times, 7 February 2015.)
Under the counter or a flutter in the dovecote 
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April 19, 2015 at 9:16+00:00Apr
Geoff
Vale Sylvie.
I recall in my hazy musician days recording albums at 2XX and being interviewed numerous times by Sylvie who was ceaseless in her promotion of local artists and musicians. and the Heaven nightclub! What a revelation!
My last interview with her was last year the week before my show “2 Tens & A Tomato” with collaborator Marina Talevski went live. Sylvie was always interested and interesting. A sad, sad loss for the Canberra art scene.
April 22, 2015 at 9:16+00:00Apr
Nigel Featherstone
Hi Geoff, very interesting to read of your experiences of Sylvie. She really was a ceaseless promoter of ACT-region artists, as you say, and interested and interesting. Vale indeed. I do hope all is well with you.