I can't begin to find the words that touch the depths of the friendship I shared with Bryce. So I won't try. I'll just share a couple of thoughts with you.
I met Bryce in one of those serendipitous moments just a couple of weeks after I moved to Melbourne 11 years ago. As the introverts at a gathering, we navigated to a quiet spot and hit it off instantly. Bryce's photography short courses were so popular at RMIT that he needed a back up and so he recruited me and trained me up.
We had very different photography styles with Bryce more a traditionalist and me a bit more loose with my interpretation. We had many a discussion over lens flare in photographs and I'm amazed to say that after many years Bryce would occasionally agree it had artistic merit.
Bryce and I mentored each other. And I googled mentor to make sure I had the right word: an experienced and trusted adviser. He helped me navigate life and I tried to teach him how to navigate social media.
It's not an exaggeration to say that Bryce changed my world. He restored my faith in humanity. He was a constant, consistent, reliable rock. I was like a boat without a rudder, swept around by the whims of the ocean, and Bryce was a lighthouse, perched firmly and safely on high ground.
I don't know anyone else I could cover such an array of conversational topics with, in such an easy way. From the deep and meaningful to the fun and frivolous, from the meaning of life to 'how the hell did that photograph win first prize'.
A thoughtful, considerate gentleman, who always opened and closed the car door for me. Bryce had a cheeky grin, a sparkle in his eye and a gentle wisdom laced with great humour.
For a chronic over thinker like myself, Bryce taught me to adopt what he called the philosophy of Capperism. It goes something like this. At a pre game interview with the Sydney Swans when a young Warwick Capper of the tight red shorts fame had been embroiled in a series of flamboyant controversies. The interviewer asked a Team Mate how Warwick was faring and whether he thought the stress would affect his game. The team mate shook his head and said, What you have to understand about Warwick is that if you don't think, you don't worry. So whenever I'm overthinking or worrying about something I can't change, I think of Bryce's advice and it helps put things in context.
I’m honoured, humbled and grateful I got to spend Bryce’s last day with him. Of course, we didn’t know that at the time. We still had plans.
When I kissed him goodbye at the end of the day, he gripped my hand, looked fiercely into my eyes, and said, “I love you”.
What a beautiful gift it was to know Bryce.
Taken only a few weeks ago. Fish and chips in the afternoon sun on his front porch. He was in awful pain but he rarely let on about it.
The last message I sent Bryce was that I’d take him to this exhibition (even if it was in a wheelchair). Well, he didn’t hang around long enough to see it.
I met Bryce at the Bean Counter 11 years ago when there used to be an exhibition space above it. How I got to be there is a great story in itself I might tell one day. I had no idea where this place was until years later when I moved to Fairfield and discovered it again. I went back there this week and found this artwork in the courtyard where it all began. Bryce is free from the cage of suffering now. His mind was sharp, his grin intact, his sense of humour shone until the end, but his body was the cage. Now he can fly.