I have always been a dreamer.
As a child I dared to dream of what I could be. I often had a full fantasy life and sometimes my life was more fantasy than reality.
Of course I knew inside that nothing would ever come of my dreams. But I didn't stop dreaming.
When I reached adulthood I was granted a small window. This did not last long but for a short while I actually lived another life. I was able to organise another life where I was a journalist. A proper journalist if even a total amateur.
I was connected to a group of people who were interested in setting up a community radio station. We had a series of meetings where we organised ourselves into several groups. These groups gave themselves different jobs. Each group set itself a task that would have to be fulfilled if we were to be a genuine radio station. I was on an overall coordinating committee that attempted to hold everything together. Shortly we found ourselves applying to a government tribunal for a broadcasting licence. Miraculously this was granted. We quickly organised ourselves a benefactor who granted us premises within his hotel. The hotel was quite large and our benefactor was happy to let us virtually have the run of the place. We set up studios in the basement. The hotel had plenty of rooms where we held meetings and organised things.
The station played continuous music, which is what it set out to do, and catered to a broad cross section of the community. Howeve, included in the licence agreement was a clause that said we had to provide 2 hours of non-music each week. This proved to be a bit of a problem. The tribunal may have meant 2 hours of news. We could not do that. Just what was non-music? We - or I - concluded that this could mean journalism or investigative journalism.
I decided to fulfil a long term desire and become a journalist. I fitted myself out with a proper kit and started planning what I would do.
My wife and I went to Holiday at Broken Hill and I took along my new tape recorder and lanyard that showed who I was. I discovered in Broken Hill there was a man who had had a job set up for him where he coordinated media interest in the town. I called on him. Of course he would help me. Who would I like to speak to? I mentioned the name Pro Hart. He phoned immediately and went into a begging mode with his friend Pro. Pro wasn’t too keen, but the media coordinator reminded Pro that this was promoting Broken Hill and he would be doing the coordinator a favour. Pro said OK and I was given his address.
I went immediately to his house. Pro was in animated discussion with 2 men at his front gate and was not happy to see me . The two men left and Pro said he was very busy. I’m too bloody busy, he said. I said that was ok as I would just follow him around and talk to him as he did whatever he did.
I had long had an interest in Art and to talk to Pro Hart was something I could not resist.
Pro Hart - real name Kevin Hart - was a celebrity of sorts in central Australia. There were not many people who did not know either his name or his paintings.
We went into his workshop. I started with his name. Pro. He explained that it was a derogatory term given to him by his fellow underground miners. He didn't like mining and his fellow workers thought he had airs and graces trying to be a painter. They called him Pro to try and remind him of who he was.
Pro went to work sorting out seemingly many half started canvases with backgrounds and trees already painted in. He set about attaching canvasses to frames and I set about asking him questions. I referred to a painting he had in his own collection titled - Crucifixion at a Racetrack. The painting depicted a person being crucified at the winning post and a large group of angry punters threatening him with their fists. I remarked that this was very different to his normal paintings and asked when it was painted.
I asked if he had once had a gambling problem. He said no. He said he could hardly recall painting this painting. It was one of his early works and he had painted it before he had become a Christian. He didn't know why he painted it. He did it in stages which apparently is how he did most of his work. Hence the large number of unfinished canvasses hanging around the studio.
I referred to his practice of painting ants and ants wings. The colours were in stark contrast to his normal landscapes. Was there any reason for this. He said he didn't know. He was taken up almost to the point of obsession and knew that his ant paintings were not everyone’s cup of tea.
I said I thought that his Ant paintings often had the colours of Gaugin's Pacific paintings and had he attended the recent Gaugin exhibition held in Sydney. He had to admit - yes. And he was in awe of Gaugin but don’t tell anyone.
The mention of a cup of tea must have set off something in his mind. It was time for a cup of tea, he said. By this time he was no longer angry with me. He could see that I was a fan. He liked talking to me. He wanted to talk about Gaugin. He took me into his house and introduced me to his wife and children.
Pro's wife got me a cup of tea and his children tried to get me interested in their attempts to draw comic books. Pro had to take a phone call and I took the opportunity to ask if Mrs Hart liked visiting heads of state. I knew that they had recently been the guests of the President of Israel and that Pro had arranged to donate one of his paintings to the State of Israel. This is what the current phone call was about. Mrs Hart said the didn’t much like it as she was really only a housewife. She much preferred if they came to her house - not her to theirs.
Pro came back into the room and said he was sorry but he had to take another phone call. He put it on speaker phone - he was an early supporter of high tech - and I recognised the voice of a well known media personality. He was asking if Pro had any painting he wanted to sell.
Pro said we would have to finish but before we did he would sign my prints. He had noticed that I had two prints of his paintings. He unrolled the prints and signed them. I later had them framed. I often wonder if anyone who comes to our house and takes an interest in them ever wonders what the writing on the prints means.
Pro Hart showed that there are times when people can warm to you.
And I showed that there are times when you can pretend to have another life.
Neville Gibb
February 2026
As a child I dared to dream of what I could be. I often had a full fantasy life and sometimes my life was more fantasy than reality.
Of course I knew inside that nothing would ever come of my dreams. But I didn't stop dreaming.
When I reached adulthood I was granted a small window. This did not last long but for a short while I actually lived another life. I was able to organise another life where I was a journalist. A proper journalist if even a total amateur.
I was connected to a group of people who were interested in setting up a community radio station. We had a series of meetings where we organised ourselves into several groups. These groups gave themselves different jobs. Each group set itself a task that would have to be fulfilled if we were to be a genuine radio station. I was on an overall coordinating committee that attempted to hold everything together. Shortly we found ourselves applying to a government tribunal for a broadcasting licence. Miraculously this was granted. We quickly organised ourselves a benefactor who granted us premises within his hotel. The hotel was quite large and our benefactor was happy to let us virtually have the run of the place. We set up studios in the basement. The hotel had plenty of rooms where we held meetings and organised things.
The station played continuous music, which is what it set out to do, and catered to a broad cross section of the community. Howeve, included in the licence agreement was a clause that said we had to provide 2 hours of non-music each week. This proved to be a bit of a problem. The tribunal may have meant 2 hours of news. We could not do that. Just what was non-music? We - or I - concluded that this could mean journalism or investigative journalism.
I decided to fulfil a long term desire and become a journalist. I fitted myself out with a proper kit and started planning what I would do.
My wife and I went to Holiday at Broken Hill and I took along my new tape recorder and lanyard that showed who I was. I discovered in Broken Hill there was a man who had had a job set up for him where he coordinated media interest in the town. I called on him. Of course he would help me. Who would I like to speak to? I mentioned the name Pro Hart. He phoned immediately and went into a begging mode with his friend Pro. Pro wasn’t too keen, but the media coordinator reminded Pro that this was promoting Broken Hill and he would be doing the coordinator a favour. Pro said OK and I was given his address.
I went immediately to his house. Pro was in animated discussion with 2 men at his front gate and was not happy to see me . The two men left and Pro said he was very busy. I’m too bloody busy, he said. I said that was ok as I would just follow him around and talk to him as he did whatever he did.
I had long had an interest in Art and to talk to Pro Hart was something I could not resist.
Pro Hart - real name Kevin Hart - was a celebrity of sorts in central Australia. There were not many people who did not know either his name or his paintings.
We went into his workshop. I started with his name. Pro. He explained that it was a derogatory term given to him by his fellow underground miners. He didn't like mining and his fellow workers thought he had airs and graces trying to be a painter. They called him Pro to try and remind him of who he was.
Pro went to work sorting out seemingly many half started canvases with backgrounds and trees already painted in. He set about attaching canvasses to frames and I set about asking him questions. I referred to a painting he had in his own collection titled - Crucifixion at a Racetrack. The painting depicted a person being crucified at the winning post and a large group of angry punters threatening him with their fists. I remarked that this was very different to his normal paintings and asked when it was painted.
I asked if he had once had a gambling problem. He said no. He said he could hardly recall painting this painting. It was one of his early works and he had painted it before he had become a Christian. He didn't know why he painted it. He did it in stages which apparently is how he did most of his work. Hence the large number of unfinished canvasses hanging around the studio.
I referred to his practice of painting ants and ants wings. The colours were in stark contrast to his normal landscapes. Was there any reason for this. He said he didn't know. He was taken up almost to the point of obsession and knew that his ant paintings were not everyone’s cup of tea.
I said I thought that his Ant paintings often had the colours of Gaugin's Pacific paintings and had he attended the recent Gaugin exhibition held in Sydney. He had to admit - yes. And he was in awe of Gaugin but don’t tell anyone.
The mention of a cup of tea must have set off something in his mind. It was time for a cup of tea, he said. By this time he was no longer angry with me. He could see that I was a fan. He liked talking to me. He wanted to talk about Gaugin. He took me into his house and introduced me to his wife and children.
Pro's wife got me a cup of tea and his children tried to get me interested in their attempts to draw comic books. Pro had to take a phone call and I took the opportunity to ask if Mrs Hart liked visiting heads of state. I knew that they had recently been the guests of the President of Israel and that Pro had arranged to donate one of his paintings to the State of Israel. This is what the current phone call was about. Mrs Hart said the didn’t much like it as she was really only a housewife. She much preferred if they came to her house - not her to theirs.
Pro came back into the room and said he was sorry but he had to take another phone call. He put it on speaker phone - he was an early supporter of high tech - and I recognised the voice of a well known media personality. He was asking if Pro had any painting he wanted to sell.
Pro said we would have to finish but before we did he would sign my prints. He had noticed that I had two prints of his paintings. He unrolled the prints and signed them. I later had them framed. I often wonder if anyone who comes to our house and takes an interest in them ever wonders what the writing on the prints means.
Pro Hart showed that there are times when people can warm to you.
And I showed that there are times when you can pretend to have another life.
Neville Gibb
February 2026
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