#nolan fitzpatrick 02

[ccxcorioni]

Yacht Party with Nolan Fitzpatrick @nolanfitz

It had only been minutes since she'd finally located Nolan, barely halfway into her tipsy inspired ribbing of him when the alarm had rang, cutting into her off the cuff monologue. "Saved by the bell." Except none of her teasing had actually managed to be severe, it was an expression of affection if someone knew to read into it well enough. As the masses shuffled towards the room they were to gather in she couldn't help but make disparaging noises at the crowd, impatience killing the buzz she'd built up from her hours of drinking. "Does no one know how a queue works." Eventually everyone filed in and she found a spot beside her boss, doors slamming not long after. It took her a moment to realise something was wrong as the darkness surrounded them, only panic from other people piercing through her alcohol fog to suggest this wasn't the plan. People around them started to move towards the door with little regard for whether or not they were in their path, trying to open them to no avail. "Oh yeah, everyone keep pushing. 'Coz that's gonna help." A particularly hard shove had her wobbling in her heels, grasping his arm for balance. A brief sense of vulnerability washed over her, suddenly all too aware that she had no idea what was happening nor what it meant for her. But the feeling is squashed down, reaching for a joke instead. Voice was kept nonchalant, lighter than she was feeling. "Y'know, it could be worse. At least I don't have to look at you now the lights are out."

[bhfineart]

Dave’s Faves for the Menzies Art Auction on 11 May 2017

Where do you find museum quality art? And does it need to be "museum quality"?

The simple answer is, it doesn't. Most art bought through commercial galleries is simply decorative and will never be worth any more than its decorative value, which often equates to perhaps 20% of its retail price.

Museum quality art in Australia can be purchased for $5,000 (or $500,000), if bought in the right place. Guiding collectors through this minefield is what we do, and we are here to assist you if and when an artwork catches your eye. In this way, we can help you avoid costly mistakes.

Below is the latest selection of museum quality Dave's Faves to enjoy from Menzies.

You can personally view all 136 lots in Sydney from 4 to 10 May, at 12 Todman Avenue, and online in the Menzies website.

The Menzies fine art auction will be held also at 12 Todman Avenue, on Thursday, 11 May 2017, starting at 6.30 pm.

[caption id="attachment_4082" align="alignleft" width="270"] Lot 1 - John Peter Russell, Ligurian Hills in Snow 1913, est. $5,000-8,000. Leaves a lasting impression[/caption]

[caption id="attachment_4083" align="alignleft" width="270"] Lot 5 - Elioth Gruner, A Summer's Day, $20,000-30,000. Plein Air Passion[/caption]

[caption id="attachment_4084" align="alignleft" width="270"] Lot 6 - Hans Heysen, Rural Landscape with Gums and Grazing Sheep, 1938, est. $10,000-15,000. The Sheep's Back[/caption]

[caption id="attachment_4085" align="alignleft" width="227"] Lot 10 - Lin Onus, Fish in Stream, est. $12,000-16,000. Minimal Lin[/caption]

[caption id="attachment_4086" align="alignleft" width="270"] Lot 18 - Charles Blackman, Bundeena 1985, est. $4,000-6,000. Bundeena beach - what a peach[/caption]

[caption id="attachment_4087" align="alignleft" width="252"] Lot 24 - Margaret Preston, The Green Curtain, c 1918, est. $55,000-70,000. Margaret's Modernist Magic[/caption]

[caption id="attachment_4088" align="alignleft" width="270"] Lot 26 - Charles Blackman, Sweet Shop 1954, est. $80,000-100,000. I also like Aeroplane Jelly[/caption]

[caption id="attachment_4089" align="alignleft" width="270"] Lot 31 - Bronwyn Oliver, Acorn 2005, est. $70,000-90,000. No little Acorn[/caption]

[caption id="attachment_4090" align="alignleft" width="270"] Lot 44 - Arthur Streeton, South Head, Sydney, 1913-14, est. $200,000-260,000. Streets Ahead[/caption]

[caption id="attachment_4091" align="alignleft" width="225"] Lot 50 - John Brack, Nude in Profile, 1974, est. $320,000-380,000. Brack bares all[/caption]

[caption id="attachment_4092" align="alignleft" width="270"] Lot 60 - Rick Amor, Remnant Pier with a Stormy Sky 2005, est. $65,000-85,000. A Pier without Peer[/caption]

[caption id="attachment_4093" align="alignleft" width="270"] Lot 64 - Sidney Nolan, Kate Kelly pursued by Constable Fitzpatrick, c1945, est. $150,000-180,000. I'm sold on Forties Nolans[/caption]

[caption id="attachment_4094" align="alignleft" width="225"] Lot 79 - David Larwill, The Pose 2007, est. $4,000-5,000. No, not that "Blue Boy"[/caption]

[caption id="attachment_4095" align="alignleft" width="270"] Lot 108 - James R. Jackson, Sydney Harbour from Neutral Bay, est. $5,000-7,000. Jackson's Landing[/caption]

[caption id="attachment_4096" align="alignleft" width="270"] Lot 112 - Hans Heysen, Cotswolds, England 1934, est. $5,000-8,000. Luscious Light[/caption]

[caption id="attachment_4097" align="alignleft" width="270"] Lot 135 - Brett Whiteley, Arc de Triomphe 1990, est. $4,000-6,000. Escaping Le Pen[/caption]

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The article Dave’s Faves for the Menzies Art Auction on 11 May 2017 was first seen on: http://bhfineart.com

[ccxcorioni]

"You say it like 'brat' is a bad thing but we both know you love it so much you wouldn't have it any other way." The smile she gave him was made all the sweeter by the absolute conviction in her words. While she might have been adding a touch of flair to them, stretching the truth to its very edges, she couldn't help but feel confident that he'd have gotten rid of her by now if he really didn't like it. Of course there was a myriad of feelings in between dislike and love but it was more fun to pretend that he just couldn't imagine his life without her. "Obviously." The dig didn't land when she saw nothing to be ashamed about. That was just growing up with two sisters who were just as competitive at her. "And unfortunately, you're somewhat okay at your job." A fleeting compliment, one that only spoke a fraction of the truth but she figured he knew her well enough by now to read between the lines.

Eyes had narrowed immediately, wanting nothing more than to wipe the self-satisfied look that she'd given him off his face. Nothing came immediately, her having to settled for an old jab, using it like a crutch, rather than something new. "I mean yeah because it's infinitely better than the 'I slept in my clothes' chic you usually subject me to." Almost belated she realised that he'd managed to demote himself further, holding up her hands as though the gesture alone could stop anything else from leaving his mouth. "Okay, no, no, no. That was way too many words, you're at like - " Fingers moved as she attempted to total them, giving up quickly and making a quick guess before she lost all her steam. "- minus five now at least." With pursed lips she gave him. Ironic, really, when their back and forth was perhaps what she enjoyed most about him. "The CC stamp of approval is permanently revoked."

She huffed slightly as his hand moved towards her back, most of the fight going out of her when it finally dawned on her that tiredness was creeping in. Too aware of the growing heaviness in her limbs and the aching in her feet she let herself be lead, for once, leaning into him slightly for support. As a parting gift to them both she gave a muttered, half-hearted jab. "Fine. But for the record I'm only going with you so you'll pay for my cab."

END.

Nolan immediately let out a snort, shaking his head.  “Think I could be a hell of a lot worse, considering my one and only employee’s a mouthy little brat,” he said, tone rough around the edges but laced with something softer—something dangerously close to fondness. His brows lifted as he held her gaze, meeting the tilt of her chin and that spark in her eye with a quiet challenge of his own. There was always that flicker of rebellion in her, that stubborn defiance that could put them toe to toe at the best and worst of times. CC had a way of pulling things out of him—oftentimes it was frustration, rage, and sometimes it something closer to amusement. The setting, the hour, maybe even the buzz from the drink still lingering in his veins—whatever it was, he wasn’t quite as quick to bite tonight. “What—because I’d wipe the floor with whatever half-baked lawsuit you threw at me? Let me guess, your definition of 'fun' growin' up was just any game you were winning.”

He couldn’t help the way his brows lifted, a low laugh slipping past his lips at her next words. “Oh, okay, right. An eight, huh?” Delight didn’t quite cover it; no, this was something richer, something smug that curled at the corners of his mouth and took up residence there. She was tipsy—of course, had to be. It was the only explanation for the way she was even able to go near the topic of him being attractive. And by God, she just kept going. He turned then, shifting his weight as he leaned back against the railing now, no longer facing the water but her instead. His sleeves were rolled up with an easy, absent gesture, arms crossing over his chest in that self-satisfied way he did when he knew he’d won, even if neither of them were sure what game was being played. “So, as long as I keep my trap shut and my shirts unbuttoned to my fuckin' sternum, I can get the Catherine Cooper stamp of approval?” he teased, grin sharp and entirely too pleased with himself—fully aware she was about to knock him down a peg or two for that one. Probably three, more like.

Still, like the gentleman he occasionally pretended to be, Nolan slid a hand behind her upper back and began to guide her away from the railing, toward the front of the ship where they'd just docked. “Alright, lass,” he muttered, voice low with a thread of levity, “let’s get your ass home before that hole you're diggin’ yourself goes any deeper and I start thinkin’ you actually enjoy my company.”

[ccxcorioni]

Scoff left her at his words before she smiled sweetly at him, insults given in overly honeyed words. "Luckily for you, I love my job. Even if my boss is a self satisfied, workaholic asshole." She grinned then, chin tilting up at him in familiar rebellion, eyes remaining fixed on him for whatever reaction he gave only vaguely aware that the view she was supposed to be looking at was behind her. Shoulders rolled into a quick shrug, shaking the thought off more than anything else. "Besides, if I wanted to make some quick cash there's at least a dozen others I could sue before you. You'd somehow manage to suck all the fun out of it."

Usually eyes would have narrowed at his teasing but this time she just nodded, agreeing with him just to take the fun out of it for him. "You bet. Us tens gotta stick together - by that I mean me and Cher. You're more like a -" Face screwed up slightly as though she was weighing him up in spite of herself, begrudging number eventually given. "- eight, when you're not talking." The alcohol that was somehow still in her system after their little timeout in the dark ( a testament to just how much she had drank ) almost dared her to look again. Gaze flickered over him again, the lack of inhibitions making her change her mind. "Maybe a nine in that outfit." God, she needed to learn when to think before she spoke. But the compliment was out there and any damage control she could do would feel clumsy and haphazard, not that it stopped her from trying. "Still hinges on the mouth shut part of it though."

He leaned forward against the rail, adrenaline still burning through him, made better by the sharp bite of sea-salt air slapping his face. Below, the ocean stretched out in silver streaks under the moonlight, endless and wild. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been on the water—maybe back in Ireland during one of his infrequent visits, during one of those rare sunny days when he and his cousins would take a boat out, close enough to feel like the edge of the world was just within reach. Funny, how far he’d come since then. From days running along barefoot on the coast to scraping by day after day to help his father achieve the so-called American Dream, to carving out a name for himself in LA’s shadows. Dirty deals, blood-soaked contracts, the law bent just enough to make it profitable. It all felt a world away -- and maybe it was.

A scoff slipped out as CC slid into his space, his head dipping just slightly. “Just makin’ sure you’re not about to slap me with a worker’s comp claim the second we step off this floating lawsuit,” he muttered, finally glancing her way. His gaze caught on her outfit—lingered a beat too long before he registered it—one brow lifting with the start of a smirk. "What, first in line at Cher's estate sale?” Nolan teased then, switching the topic to something lighter, less sincere.

[ccxcorioni]

"Oh I am gonna hold you to that, Fitz." Grin stretched wide over her face as he promised her the bonus that she'd demanded, sense of victory felt. Maybe there should have been some guilt sneaking in at just how much fun she was having when the fight seemed to be getting so serious but the thought was shoved from her mind. There'd be time later to process what had happened and maybe then some kind of remorse would wash over her but for now she would chose to revel in it without thinking too much about the injuries that the brawling men were receiving.

Aside from the glare she shot him over her shoulder, she remained focused on the fight only moving every now and again to get a better angle. She winced slightly as the knife hit Leon's side but before she could feel anything close to sympathy, Nolan was grabbing her arm and cutting short her directorial debut. "No, wait." For once there was no real fight behind her words, vague sense of relief felt that nothing worse had happened. "I can get more." By that point they were halfway to the door, him steering her through the crowd. Another thing she was grateful for when high heels, alcohol and people pushing didn't exactly make for steady feet. Phone was tucked safely away so she could hold on to him too, only letting go once the cool sea air was felt.

She couldn't decide if she was giddy or dazed by it all, gaze drifting around the crowds as though she could spot anything else they might want to take note of. Her search for something else to exploit was cut short by Nolan's voice catching her attention. "Yeah, fine." Words were said quickly but weren't untrue, she was fine. For now at least. The negative emotions would likely come later. Sly smirk curled over her lips as she turned to face him, elbows leaning back on the railing as she slid along it into his personal space. "You didn't manage to hit that thick head of yours on the way out somehow, did you?" Head titled in mock scrutiny, as though the simply gesture of asking how she was was enough to make her question his wellbeing.

There weren’t many people Nolan trusted outright. His brother made the short list—God help him—driven as hell and just stubborn enough to carry the family torch without lighting himself on fire. And then there was CC. For all the migraines she handed him on a silver platter, she’d stuck it out longer than most, weathered his erratic hours and worse moods, and somehow kept pace with every scheme, shortcut, and opportunity he chased down like a mad dog. More than that, she’d carved out a place for herself—no small feat, considering how hard it was to keep up, let alone stand out, when you worked for Nolan Fitzpatrick.

So yeah, in a potential life or death situation like this, he was glad CC was nearby. Not that he’d ever say that part out loud.

“Play your cards right and you’ll get a nice summer bonus.” He meant it, too. Nolan knew how these kinds of organizations worked; nobody was gonna press charges. That kind of move opened doors best left sealed shut. Leverage, though? That was always on the table. The rest could be figured out later. He rolled his eyes at her muttering about needing decent audio, giving her another nudge but otherwise staying quiet up until-- “Oh, shit,” slipped out under his breath when the smaller Outlaw hit the ground and Leon took a knife to the side.

“Alright, that’s enough. Come on.” They had what they needed. Now the priority was not dying. “The doors are open, I think. Let’s move before someone else gets creative.” He took her arm again, guiding her through the shifting crowd until the heavy hit of sea air slapped across their faces.

Once they reached the railing, he exhaled hard, a grin spreading wide across his face—half adrenaline, half disbelief. After a beat, he looked back at her, brow softening. “You good, Cooper?”

[ccxcorioni]

"That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me." Hand goes to heart in sarcastic gesture, half the movement lost to the dark but by now he undoubtedly knew her well enough to envision what she'd do. But as the crowd continued to shift around them, as unpredictable and as unforgiving as the ocean they were on, her jokes suddenly felt all too hollow. Before she could even begin to spiral though, Nolan gave her something else to latch onto and the rising sense of panic that had almost gripped her was quickly shoved to the side. It wasn't surprising, really, that he'd been able to find an opportunity in the chaos not when he'd always been a bit of a bloodhound, looking for any kind of limp he could exploit. A trait she'd always admired though even if she'd have to be on her deathbed before she ever told him so. She'd also never dream of voicing just how much she was grateful he'd been with her, not least because it would mean admitting she'd felt something close to fear.

"I better be getting overtime for this." Phone was pulled out and she began paraphrasing the comments being made, pausing only to swat Nolan's hand away as he shook her. "Funnily enough, it's easier to type when your arm isn't getting shaken about." She hissed towards him but as the fight broke out and the adrenaline kicked up she couldn't help but return his grin. Finally things were getting interesting. There was vague familiarity over the figures involved but she struggled to be truly concerned for their wellbeing, preoccupied with getting the footage she needed. She moved closer to Nolan, entering his space so she could get a better angle. "Maybe if you shut your mouth I'd be able to get a decent audio."

"You're like one of those wind-up dolls that won't shut up 'til it breaks," Nolan shot back, reaching out instinctively to grab her arm and steady her as the crowd started to surge around them. He couldn't say he was surprised — hell, he'd half been expecting some kind of shitshow ever since he stepped on board, especially after the events of the Gala. A yacht full of criminals and their associates, stranded in the middle of the ocean? It was a goddamn setup for disaster. So when the lights cut out and panic started to ripple through the crowd, Nolan took a slow breath, forcing down the spike of adrenaline. This didn’t have to be a tragedy — it could just as easily be an opportunity. "I need you to keep your ears open, CC. If we make it outta here unscathed, I'm gonna make it worth our wallets," he said low, voice pitched just loud enough for her to catch over the rising noise of people shoving and shouting. His mind was already spinning, mapping out angles and loopholes before the dust even settled.

And then — a voice cut through the chaos. Nolan’s head snapped toward it, his hand giving CC’s shoulder a quick shake to get her attention, guiding her gaze the same way.

"Slander," Nolan remarked dryly, like he half-expected CC to be jotting this all down — which, truth be told, he kind of was. A heartbeat later, a fight broke out. Aslan, Leon, and some kid Nolan couldn’t have picked out of a lineup. His pulse kicked up, watching Aslan — someone he actually considered a friend, or as close to it as he got — square off against the two Outlaws. Still, he couldn’t help the way a crooked grin tugged at his mouth. "Now this," he said, amused, flicking a glance to CC and gesturing at the unfolding chaos. "This smells like an angle." He tilted his head, tone mock-impatient. "The fuck are you waiting for? We should be getting this on video. Should come in handy once I figure out whose shit list I’m tryin’ to land on."