Claudia Karvan has been part of some devastating TV moments – one, in particular, traumatised a generation of Australians. But for her new vehicle, the Stan series Bump, Karvan’s plan was to make something optimistic, funny and “full of humanity”. Amid the turmoil of the pandemic, the show’s warmhearted embrace hit the right notes – Bump became Stan’s biggest ever premiere when it debuted in 2021 and returned for another series last month.
Karvan both stars in and co-produces Bump. To bring the show to life, she worked alongside screenwriter Kelsey Munro and her longtime collaborator John Edwards. She and Edwards previously worked together on The Secret Life Of Us, Love My Way, Tangle and the Puberty Blues reboot – shows that helped make Karvan Australian screen royalty.
In the much earlier days of her career, she had a small role in a movie called The Nostradamus Kid, which starred actor Noah Taylor. The pair once dated. During that time, Taylor painted an intimate portrait of Karvan that she loved – and then lost. Here, she tells us about that irreplaceable artwork, as well as the story of two other important personal belongings.
What I’d save from my house in a fire
Some linen sheets. I was driving through a salubrious area of Sydney’s eastern suburbs and saw advertised in a boutique shop window: 60% off bedsheets. Never allergic to a bargain, I pulled over and went in. 60% off! That’s a lot.
The sheets were linen and white. I’d heard of Egyptian cotton and thread counts and all that palaver, but I’d never heard of linen sheets. I suspected they might be ultra-good, so I scooped them up and took them to the counter. When the amount appeared on the cashier screen I was stunned and embarrassed, having not checked the price. I tapped my credit card. Bargain they were not – or so I thought.
I’ve recently discovered I’m a Highly Sensitive Person (look it up, it’s a character trait not a disorder), and apparently us HSP-types are extra aware of the texture of fabrics on our skin – something I’d not thought unique to myself but hey, we never stop learning. These sheets are insane. Even friends who housesit text me to ask “What is the story with these sheets?!” followed by explosive emojis. So they’re coming with me if my house burns down.
And it would be silly of me not to use them to wrap up a few of the artworks I’m so lucky to own – specifically one by my closest friend, Lara Merrett.
My most useful object
Twenty years ago when I had a newborn, my close friend, who was in a relationship with a rockstar (and still is), gave me a gift. She called it The Boyfriend.
The rockstar was often away touring and my partner was often away working, so this gadget was all about compensating for those absences. At the time, I underestimated its powers. I thought it was gimmicky, but 20 years on I still reach for that “boyfriend”, who now lives in a kitchen drawer. He never disappoints.
After straining myself and almost giving myself blisters there’s always that a-ha! moment when I remember the “boyfriend”. I stop banging the jar on the side of the sink and running the lid under hot water, open the second drawer down, rummage around the tongs and egg flippers and there he is: my dependable, white-plastic-handled jar opening tool. Yes! That jar of curry paste is all mine.
The item I regret losing
Regret is a heavy word. Regret is such an unfashionable emotion. But I read a great poem recently by David Whyte, called Regret, and I listened to a podcast interview about it. He makes a pretty convincing argument that if we don’t regret anything and if we don’t relive that regret then we won’t learn. So after ruminating on years of losses and even deciding that I didn’t regret losing a family home built out of mud bricks that we’d made with our own hands (nonattachment is a valuable Buddhist practice), I landed on an object that when I lost, I felt deeply crestfallen.
When I was very young and going out with Noah Taylor, he painted a terrific, spontaneous, rudimentary nude of me on a salvaged timber baker’s tray. I really loved it. I even travelled three hours to escort it safely during a family relocation. I strapped it to the side of my ute and kept an eye on it in my side-view mirror as I drove down the highway back to Sydney. One moment it was there, next moment it was splinters on asphalt.
I think you can see it adorning a wall in the background of some family snapshots, and I’ve bought or been gifted artworks from him since. He’s bloody talented. My lesson from regret is: always check those transport straps!
