Claudia Karvan's Uluru therapy

Georgia Rickard gets to know one of Australia’s favourite actresses Claudia Karvan, seeing her make-up free side during Australian Traveller magazine’s outback cover shoot… (Photography by Elise Hassey, Styling by Anna Santangelo, Hair & make-up by Emmily Banks)

Claudia Karvan buys a mean gift. “What do you get the guy who’s got everything?" she asks rhetorically.

She’s recounting the story of choosing her husband, Jeremy Sparks’ 40th birthday present, a process that, considering their long history, could have easily been a non-event but she was already prepared for.

The two have known each other since Karvan was 16, after all, even if they were housemates for ‘a couple of years’ before they got together. (“It was a big surprise to both of us and even more of a surprise that it’s endured 20 years," she observes later.) She came through with the goods, though.

“A beehive," she grins, mischief written on those familiar lines. “I bought Jez a beehive. It’s hilarious. We’ve been making honey for the last five or six years."

Walking her own path

If Karvan’s resume suggests she’s the kind of woman who walks her own path, this conversation does nothing to deter the impression. It’s this that made her an obvious choice for Australian Traveller, actually (though those cheekbones didn’t hurt).

Even if most of us still identify with Karvan mainly as Alex in The Secret Life of Us, bumbling her way through her late twenties (or even younger, natch, as the romantic foil to ’90s heartthrobs Guy Pearce and Alex Dimitriades, in films such as Dating the Enemy and The Heartbreak Kid), Karvan has quietly evolved into something of an activist for the Australian arts industry over the years; a writer, producer and director who also happens to be an industry leader on some of the art scene’s most urgent topics.

But back to the bees. Karvan has whipped out her phone and is now scrolling through the family’s honey-making escapades, sharing insights into her life (and phone) with surprising freeness.

Here’s a photo of nine-year-old son Albie holding frames of the honey; there’s the big galvanising bin where the honey is spun; here’s a picture of Sparks, grinning next to the frames.

The skater girl

Then she scrolls too far, and a behemoth skate ramp appears on the screen. It’s the kind of thing my mother would have died before letting me go near. Karvan had it installed at the family’s NSW farm, specially for her kids.

“It’s like 4.6 metres tall or something," she says, with a trace of pride. “[13-year-old daughter] Audrey’s really good, she can get really high."

It’s probably Karvan’s own unconventional childhood – her stepfather, Arthur Karvan ran Kings Cross’ nightclub-of-the-decade, Arthurs; Karvan was a regular fixture in the club on weekends – that laid the foundations for what seems to be a solid sense of self.

Take her decision to remain in Australia; a move most modern actors now reject, in favour of the siren call of Hollywood. Her agent’s reaction to her decision was less than ideal, Karvan remembers; she was told she’d have to make her own opportunities if she wanted to stay here in the homeland.

“That was a despairing thing to hear," Karvan recalls, brushing back her fringe. “As an actor, often the mindset is that you are dependent on other people to generate work for you and this is a very small industry. The task of having to initiate something just seemed absolutely beyond me."

She stayed anyway, and the opportunities appeared. And kept appearing.

The pragmatist

It’s been a week since we returned from Uluru; Karvan is looking decidedly less dusty today, in a black collared shirt and tan skirt.

We’re breakfasting at a trendy café in her home neighbourhood, the inner-city suburb of Redfern; she has ordered French toast and is eating with enthusiasm. It’s a surprising choice for someone who seems so sensible – or maybe it isn’t.

Karvan is pragmatic about most things – it’s hard to imagine her ever indulging the idea of a diet, or the serve of self-loathing that usually preceeds one; perhaps she’s pragmatic about pleasures, too.

It’s a good word for her: sensible. My notes on her include other, similar words like that to describe her; terms like humble and earthy, and that adjective all publicists yearn for, for their clients: grounded.

Take this for an example: when Karvan arrived at Uluru, she learned that her make-up artist’s baggage has been left on the tarmac in Sydney. “Oh well," she said, unfazed by the obvious repercussions. “I’m sure we’ll work something out."

And we did. (The make-up eventually arrived the following day; she made do with limited supplies and borrowed hair-styling tools until then.)

Behind the camera

You can only imagine how that scene might have played out with another actress. Karvan’s biggest roles, however, are arguably the ones she plays off screen.

She has become increasingly involved in the process of telling Australian stories from behind the camera, having just wrapped the Gina Rinehart biopic (airing on the Nine Network later this year), a tale she wanted to tell in order to “dimensionalise those people".

It is the first show she has produced without being front-of-camera at all (“it was nice to be lying in bed at five in the morning instead of being in a make-up chair," she says. “Something I’d like to do again.")

She has been instrumental in creating new careers, too, as a patron of the annual Natalie Miller Fellowship (a female-only grant awarded annually to a promising individual in the production world) and previously as a member of the judging panel of the female-only literary Stella Prize – although I’d hazard a guess she has participated in both for their contributions to society as a whole, rather than a gender-specific agenda. (“I just wanted to support writers," she clarifies later, seemingly in agreeance with my hunch.)

Local hero

She is also a board member of Screen Australia, the federal government’s key funding body for local productions. It’s a suitable role for her, considering her fiercely protective stance on local industry; she has been particularly vocal about the need to keep local acting roles local for years.

“Look, I don’t believe in holding one position forever, but so often the overseas actor is seen as the silver bullet to solve a production’s woes," she says on the topic.

“It’s like when Geoffrey Rush won the Golden Globe, and he famously said, ‘and this is to all the people who wanted to fund Shine if I wasn’t in it’. If we didn’t have protections in place we probably wouldn’t have our Heath Ledger and Jacki Weaver, Geoffrey Rush, Rachel Griffiths, Toni Collette. All these extraordinary actors who are now storming the world… We wouldn’t have created all those careers."

The ultimate aim, she says, is to foster a healthy industry that can withstand global pressures. Whether that will eventuate, though, is debatable.

“No one’s got a crystal ball," she muses. “I can paint you one bleak picture, that it’s all [online] streaming, and that means there’s no way to regulate the content control. Streaming just blows the field wide open… we are going to have to command the Australian population’s attention, and the world’s, with our own storytelling."

Which is something we’ve already begun, she adds. “A lot of our productions are being remade in America, which would never have happened decades ago."

Fading cultural cringe

It seems to be that it’s the younger generations who are finally paying much more attention to our own stories, I suggest, citing the success of productions like Underbelly, Paper Giants, Never Tear Us Apart, and Howzat! Kerry Packer’s War, which resonated well with Gen Y audiences.

She shrugs. “I think there’s just strength in numbers, maybe."

Really? It’s not a sign that Australia is evolving? That we’re starting to celebrate who we are? That cultural cringe is fading, that we’re growing up as a nation?

“Sorry," she says, sharing a rare, self-deprecating grin. “I’m pretty unromantic. I’m not a very sentimental person."

I had been hoping, in this interview, to gain some kind of rare insight into modern Australian culture, some new kind of paradigm from which I could draw preliminary conclusions about the development of Australia’s maturing arts scene, but despite Karvan’s obvious intelligence, and love of her craft and country, she doesn’t seem particularly prone to navel gazing, or the grand conclusions one draws from such an indulgence, either.

She’s more from the live-in-the-moment camp; just doing what she’s doing, instincts guiding her from project to project with steadiness and grace.

Bush therapy

Ask her about our continent, however, and she becomes more animated. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to spend a lot of time away from Australia and away from our open spaces and access to nature and wilderness," she muses, when I ask how her nationality has informed her career.

“Being in the bush, it restores you mentally, physically… going to [places like] Uluru, you get this extraordinary and mighty energy that you can’t quite quantify but you’re absorbing through every pore."

This was her first trip to Uluru; she enjoyed it immensely. “How are the stars?" she says with admiration. “I’ve never seen a sky like that; it wasn’t a sky I even recognised.

It was [also] very special to get an insight into the Anangu traditions and appreciate how sophisticated the caring for the land. It’s beautiful to see the change of the approach since 1985."

It has changed, I agree; modern Uluru is an experience with depth.

“Just that brashness and the ignorance [of the past]. Thank God we’re moving away from it. I think the most comforting thing to hear, was the understanding that the Anangu people would prefer that you don’t climb Uluru. That 75 per cent [of visitors] choose not to is a huge endorsement on the human race, I think, and hopefully that number will keep reducing, because it all comes down to respect, doesn’t it? Respecting other people’s values and acknowledging our past."

She pauses for a moment – but only a moment. “Whatever we can do to make up for our terrible past, we’ve all got to do it. It’s got to be in the front of our minds, all the time in Australia. It’s a real blight. I think there’s still a lot of guilt and discomfort within the average Australian."

Non-romantic? Maybe. Passionate, certainly.

As our meeting concludes she pushes her plate away, French toast half eaten, and gives me a brisk, but generous hug before getting up to leave. It’s Karvan in a netshell, that hug – genuinely sweet, minus any false sentimentality.

A certain beehive springs to mind…

Makers, bakers, artists, chefs, crafters – Ballarat and its surrounds are overflowing with creative spirits. All dedicated to keeping traditional skills alive for a city that is humming with artful energy.

Modern makers: a new generation of artists and artisans

“Keeping craft alive is a noble cause,” says Jess Cameron-Wootten, a charming and passionate master leathercrafter and cordwainer, who handmakes traditional leather boots and shoes in Ballarat’s old Gun Cotton Goods Store.

Ballarat was recognised in 2019 as a UNESCO Creative City of Craft and Folk Art, and today it’s a place where craft traditions converge with contemporary needs. Nothing quite captures this convergence as a visit to Wootten , the workshop and store of Jess Cameron-Wootten and his partner Krystina Menegazzo.

heritage buildings in Ballarat — Ballarat’s streets are lined with heritage buildings. (Image: Matt Dunne)

Jess’s father was an artisan bootmaker, or cordwainer. Now Jess and Krys and their small team of artisans continue the tradition, but with a modern spin. The company’s boots and shoes, made completely from scratch, are renowned for their quality and longevity. Wootten also craft shoes, bags, belts, leather aprons, wallets and more.

Cosy beanies, gloves, alpaca socks, “unbreakable” shoelaces and various other goods – many from local craftspeople and small-scale makers – fill the shop’s shelves. “We’re always happy to support a mate,” says Jess. “People love to see the workshop and where things are made. Our clients care about quality and sustainability,” Krys comments. The company slogan ‘Made for generations’ says it all.

Ruby Pilven’s ceramics at Ross Creek Gallery. (Image: Tara Moore)

For Ruby Pilven, craft is also in the DNA – both her parents were potters and with her latest porcelain ceramics, Ruby’s young daughter has been helping add colour to the glazes. “I grew up watching my parents in the workshop – I’ve always been doing ceramics,” she says, although her Visual Arts degree was in printmaking. That printmaking training comes through particularly in the rich layering of pattern. Her audacious colour, unexpected shapes and sudden pops of 12-carat gold are contemporary, quirky – and joyful.

You can see Ruby’s handcrafted ceramics, and work by other local and regional artists, at Ross Creek Gallery , a light-filled space surrounded by serene bushland, across from the mudbrick house her parents built in the 1980s. A 10-minute drive from Ballarat, it’s a tangible link to the region’s well-established craft traditions.

How Ballarat is preserving the past

artisans making crafts at the Centre for Rare Arts and Forgotten Trades, Ballarat — The Centre for Rare Arts & Forgotten Trades holds workshops to preserve crafts and skills.

While tradition is ongoing, there’s a danger that many of these specific type of skills and knowledge are fading as an older generation passes on. Step forward the Centre for Rare Arts and Forgotten Trades .

The seven purpose-built studios occupy a fabulous modern building adjacent to Sovereign Hill, with state-of-the-art facilities, enormous windows and landscape views across to Warrenheip and Wadawurrung Country.

artisanal works at the Centre for Rare Arts and Forgotten Trades, Ballarat — Check out artisanal works at the Centre for Rare Arts and Forgotten Trades.

Practising artisans run hands-on workshops. Fancy making your own medieval armour? Or trying your hand at blacksmithing, spinning wool, plaiting leather, weaving cane or craft a knife? Book a class and learn how. “It’s about creating awareness and also sharing knowledge and skills before they are lost,” explains Deborah Klein, the centre manager.

A city steeped in food and flavours

Chef José Fernandez preparing American streetfood at Pancho — Chef José Fernandez creates vibrant South American street food at Pancho. (Image: Ballarat Tourism)

One skill that hasn’t been lost is that of cooking. Ballarat’s burgeoning gastronomy scene runs the gamut from an artisan bakery (the atmospheric 1816 Bakehouse) to cool coffee shops, speakeasy cocktail bars and distilleries to fine-dining venues. But I’m still surprised to find Pancho , José Fernandez’s South American street food restaurant, serving fried cheese tequeños, fiery fish tacos, Argentinian grilled chicken.

The room is as lively as the food – a whirl of colour filled with gifted and thrifted paintings, photos, tchotchkes (trinkets), plants. There’s a Mexican abuela aesthetic going on here. Even before the music and mezcal kick in, it’s fun. Heads up on the drinks menu – an authentic selection of mezcal, tequila, South American wines and Mexican cerveza.

a cocktail at Itinerant Spirits, Ballarat — Enjoy a cocktail at Itinerant Spirits. (Image: Ballarat Tourism)

The spirit is willing, so after lunch we head towards the gold rush-era Ballarat train station and across the line to the old 1860s Goods Shed for Itinerant Spirits . At one end, a massive German copper still looms behind a wall of glass. The fit-out embraces deep olive-green tones, original bluestone walls, steamer trunks as coffee tables, heritage timber floors, oversized lamp shades and cognac-hued modernist leather seating.

the Itinerant Spirits Distillery & Cocktail Bar, Ballarat — The distillery operates from an old goods shed. (Image: Ballarat Tourism)

Gallivanter Gin, Vansetter Vodka and Wayfarer Whiskey – the key spirits distilled – star at the bar. The spirits are crafted using grains from the Wimmera Mallee region, and native botanicals foraged in the Grampians. Seasonal cocktails are inspired by local people and places (I loved The Headland, inspired by Sovereign Hill and flavoured with old-fashioned raspberry drops). Sample the spirits, and join a cocktail masterclass or a distillery tour. It’s a seductive setting – you’ll likely find yourself ordering a charcuterie platter or pizza as the evening progresses.

The Ballarat stay combining history and luxury

one of the rooms at Hotel Vera, Ballarat — The rooms at Hotel Vera have a contemporary style. (Image: Ballarat Tourism)

New lives for old buildings keeps history alive. Vera, Ballarat’s boutique five-star hotel, has taken it to the next level: it’s a palimpsest, a subtle layering of early 1900s and 1930s Art Deco architecture with a sleek new wing. There are seven spacious suites, each a dramatically different colour, with designer chairs, blissful bathrooms. High-end pottery and hand-picked artworks imbue the spaces with personality.

Vera’s intimate, award-winning restaurant, Babae, is subtly theatrical with sheer drapes and gallery lighting, its bespoke timber furniture and brass-edged marble bench setting the stage for food with a sharp regional focus. “We have goat’s cheese from a local supplier, handmade granola from local Vegas & Rose, truffles from nearby Black Cat Truffles, fresh food from our garden, and regional wines,” says joint owner David Cook-Doulton.

Celebrating the local makers, bakers, growers and producers, and the master chefs who work their magic is all part of the rich tapestry that links Ballarat’s history to its vibrant present.

A traveller’s checklist

Getting there

It’s 90 minutes from Melbourne, either on the Western Freeway, or hop on a V/Line train from Southern Cross Station.

Staying there

Hotel Vera is a centrally located Art Deco boutique hotel. Consider Hotel Provincial , which feels like a sleek country house, but with its own restaurant, Lola.

a contemporary room at Hotel Provincial, Ballarat — Hotel Provincial has country house vibes.

Eating there

dining at Mr Jones, Ballarat — The table is set at Mr Jones. (Image: Tony Evans/ Visit Victoria)

Culinary whiz Damien Jones helms Chef’s Hat winner Mr Jones Dining with quiet assurance. His modern Asian food is deceptively simple with deep, intense flavours. Low-key, laid-back ambience, lovely staff, thoughtful wine list.

Cocktails are definitely a thing in Ballarat. Reynard (fox in French) is foxy indeed, a clubby space with top-notch cocktails and small bites. Grainery Lane is extravagantly OTT with its massive 1880s bar, myriad chandeliers, brass gin still, Asian-inspired food and lavish cocktails.

dining at Grainery Lane, Ballarat — Dining at Grainery Lane.

Playing there

a laneway filled with artworks in Ballarat — An artful laneway in the city. (Image: Ballarat Tourism)

Check out local design legend Travis Price’s wall murals in Hop Lane with its colourful canopy of brollies, or in Main Street. The Art Gallery of Ballarat’s off-site Backspace Gallery showcases early-career artists in a stylish, contemporary space. First Nations-owned and run Perridak Arts connects people to place, bringing together art and crafts in this gallery/shop.

a woman admiring artworks at Perridak Arts Gallery — Perridak Arts is a First Nations-run gallery. (Image: Tony Evans)

The wineries of the Pyrenees are close at hand with their welcoming cellar doors and robust reds. Join a behind-the-scenes tour at the Centre for Gold Rush Collections .

Don’t forget the giant bluestone Kryal Castle , ‘the land of adventure’, for a little medieval magic, and not just for the kids: get ready for Highland-style feasting, jousting, even overnight stays.

The secret life of Claudia Karvan