From the ed­i­tor

The Weekend Australian - Review - - Contents - Deb­o­rah Jones

TO­DAY I sign off from The Aus­tralian af­ter 25 years with the pa­per — 251/ years, to be strictly ac­cu­rate. Not quite half of my life, but not far off it. Most of those years have been spent in arts jour­nal­ism, which is a piece of good for­tune I am pro­foundly grate­ful to have had. In my view there’s no area of jour­nal­ism more stim­u­lat­ing or more chal­leng­ing — all those art forms to be across; all those ex­cit­ing tem­per­a­ments; the lively con­tempt for work-life bal­ance — or more fun. True, the pa­per’s po­lit­i­cal com­men­ta­tors could per­haps mount that ar­gu­ment — and their hours are pretty sim­i­lar, by which I mean ev­ery wak­ing mo­ment and then some — but I will ac­cept no other can­di­date. It has been a blast; all­con­sum­ing and in­cred­i­bly in­spir­ing. Nat­u­rally it hasn’t been all open­ing nights and free drinks, but I’ve had more than my fair share. ‘‘Too much fun,’’ has been my slo­gan, and still is. Af­ter the mer­ci­less slog of the day there was al­ways the pos­si­bil­ity of some­thing ex­tra­or­di­nary to come. The re­sult may not al­ways have been what was hoped for, but the en­liven­ing sense of an­tic­i­pa­tion was al­ways there. In that quar­ter-cen­tury I’ve been to thou­sands of shows in what you might call the line of duty, ex­cept it never was a duty. To all the artists who have en­riched my life in­cal­cu­la­bly, thank you. And of course arts jour­nal­ists would be sad, empty ves­sels with­out read­ers. We do it for you. Look­ing into my di­ary for the next cou­ple of months I see a solid ar­ray of the­atre en­gage­ments inked in and I sus­pect it won’t be long be­fore I won­der just how I ever had enough time to go to work. Well, what I was lucky enough to call work. See you in a foyer soon. Here at Re­view, for­mer ed­i­tor Deb­o­rah Hope re­sumes the chair. Wel­come back.

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