Saturday, August 9, 2014

Recycling stuff is so rewarding and can save our existence.

We have a little Hut/Studio in the bush near the wetlands in front of our cottage. You can click here to see its resurrection.

For the time being I have claimed it as a space to draw, write and paint. We have used only recycled materials and patched up holes with copper, mesh, microwave glass and all sorts of scrappy things. The kids painted all over the walls with me and it continues to be a changing canvas.















It's been a rather cold winter and to take the chill out of the air down at the Hut I asked Wayne to build me a tiny wood heater that I could keep alight with the sticks from the bush around me.

And he came up with this beauty….





Using a broken pressure tank from a pump and metal legs off an old cart. All of the parts are reused from discarded metal. Everything recycled, even the little wooden handle. Sourced from Wayne's collected scrap pile of goodies.



Here it is being installed with some salvaged tiles as the flooring. We had to burn her in to remove the paint off the tank and she was ready to go. Threw out great warmth and took little effort to get going and heat up. As my time spent down there is in short bursts it is perfect for a little heat, quickly.  We will put some old mini orb behind it and hopefully get it pumping a couple of times a week.

I know. Awesome.

Tuesday, July 1, 2014

Hear me, universe.


Heart flushed with heat. Eyes smouldering the colour of moss.

Hot coals inhabiting my chest. 

But my lips, are sealed like pale pink ice.


Flames in my throat. 

Burning the words, and singeing my voice.

Ashes afloat from a childhood. Softly drifting into reality. 


Memories lost on a sandy trail. 

Unearthed, later. Down the long and dusty track. 

Wearing away the journey. Leading to exposure. 


Shattering it all. Like arrows to the heart. 

I hear your wish universe.


Standing in the land of my raising, and all the untold stories. 

Peoples faces from long ago. Appearing in my new reality. 

A twist of fate. Bringing me from obscurity. 


Challenge me, I say. Expose my voice then.  

I'm strong in my place.






Monday, June 16, 2014

Have a listen.




                                               
 


Thanks Luca for bringing these dudes to our attention.
Really good stuff. x

Monday, May 12, 2014

Glass on the wire.

There is something so perfect and real about these photos that make me all relaxed and soft inside. Maybe it's the way the glass melts into the blue sky, or how it bends gently reaching out to nothing.




The way the wrapped metal supports, and lifts it up in the air. Giving, and allowing it to be exposed. But still safely held and secured with the wire.



Or the way the glass is transparent and strong. Solid and vulnerable.
Maybe it's replicating each of us, as the complex humans we are.



Feel free to use these photos for your desktop or screen saver…. or whatever. There of good definition so can be enlarged. Just felt like sharing something tangible today. 

And if you would like to see more of this glass and metal combo you can go to Wayne's Facebook community page.

Monday, April 14, 2014

Amiss - is my writing.


I'v tried to write here a dozen times, but however way I try, it feels so unsatisfactory. So I delete and try again. But nothing is working. The topic feels wrong, the substance seems empty and my style wanky. Everything seems pretentious and shallow.

My focus is lost. It feels a bit like flailing in the deep dark ocean, where the waves are crashing at me and I can't see behind me, or in front of me. And all I hear is the water rushing through my ears.

Even as I am writing this, I'm belittling it to a microscopic piece of dust. It has no meaning, no beginning, no ending. It's all over the place.

It feels like this blog is a luxury, that I don't deserve. That it is sub-standard, wasteful and pointless.

All I can do is be honest, and be me.

I am tired of holding it all close, but wanting to let it all out.

I am adrift, and can not unfurl my Ideas, thoughts, frustrations, art, future and past. Everything.

So. I'm taking a break, until I can get my shit together.






Wednesday, April 9, 2014

SCULPTURE


I made a Facebook page for Wayne. 

……and his sculpture.

So check it out here.





Monday, February 24, 2014

monday music.

Another head hangs lowly, 
Child is slowly taken. 
And the violence causes silence, 
Who are we mistaken? 




Let see, it's not me, it's not my family. 
In your head, in your head they are fighting, 
With their tanks and their bombs, 
And their bombs and their guns. 
In your head, in your head, they are crying... 

In your head, in your head, 
Zombie, zombie, zombie, 
Hey, hey, hey. What's in your head, 
In your head, 
Zombie, zombie, zombie? 
Hey, hey, hey, hey, oh, dou, dou, dou, dou, dou... 

Another mother's breakin', 
Heart is taken over. 
And the violence causes silence, 
We must be mistaken. 

It's the same old theme since nineteen-sixteen. 
In your head, in your head they're still fighting, 
With their tanks and their bombs, 
And their bombs and their guns. 
In your head, in your head, they are dying... 




Saturday, February 15, 2014

Am I here.

I write, I think.

I'm grasping on to all I have.

I see, I feel. 

Breathing in everything around me.

I adjust, I align. 

Staring at the road ahead.

Searching and seeking for grails and epiphanies.

Lost in the dust of survival.

See me, here.

I ask.

Do you see me.

Where is your spirit.

I am just a mote floating in a dark corner.

Catching streams of light.

Revealing my beauty in slow motion.

Do you see me.

Are you blinded by the light.

Thursday, February 13, 2014

We are nothing.

I have a thought.

Humanity is of no significance.

We are destroying this planet to the point where we will die.

Once we are gone. The planet will grow again.

Control gone, the abuse will stop.

It will thrive without us. No need for humans, for what have we ever given back.

We think we are so clever. Conquering, owning and monopolising.

But it's all useless. Insignificant and irrelevant to humanity.

We have no unity. No common ground, health and survival.

No strength of spirit.

We are as weak as piss.

I know it sounds bleak.

But there is a truth here.

Once we are gone, the pollution will stop.

Roads will crack, cars will rust.

Buildings shall crumble and creepers will climb.

Out of the earth the trees will rise, reaching for the sun and air with freedom.

Balance will return.

The Great barrier reef will repair itself.

Ancient forests will flourish.

Rivers will return to their natural flow.

And the trees.....

The trees will restore the balance of all.

Nothing will need protection, as the threat will be gone.











But I believe that we can change. Don't you?

If humanity finds its true heart and lets go of the control.

Lets go of the greed, the competition, the ego, the insanity of the life we are living.

Maybe we have a chance, of balance.

A chance, of life.

The only place for us is here, in this environment. We don't survive without it.

End of story.

We are nothing without air to breathe. Without water, shelter and a healthy planet.

We are nothing.

Every single piece of clothing, pair of shoes, car, lipstick, gadget, computer,

book, metal plastic, oil, wood, toy, medicine, drug, creation....

All of it, has somehow been sourced from this earth. We have taken a lot.

And the cost is our survival, not the earths.

Every human on this earth should have ultimate dedication.

To the balance of this life.

Including me.

And including you.










Saturday, February 1, 2014

Creative junkyard

A thrush is outside the bedroom window. Gorging on grapes from the vine that cascades down the side of the house. It flits back and fourth from the birdbath to vine. Grab grape, clean beak, grab grape, clean beak, back and fourth. I'm sure the thrush has had a hard couple of days too. Searing hot temperatures, mostly over 40 degrees and a fierce inferno breathing fire up on the range that is still loitering the landscape has rattled and worn us. We evacuated our home and escaped the smoke, heat, and threat to our lives. On the day we left the smoke pummelled into the sky and created a 12 kilometre high convection that bent over us with a menacing, but spectacular scene. We left everything behind as the ash began to float down and the sky darkened in our accelerated departure.

But now we are home again and I am wondering where the grey thrush went? Where did it seek refuge? I image it sat on a branch in the brittle shade and held on to dear life. Airing its wings to try keep cool while the wind thrashed the stifling heat around and the smoke stole the air. It looks rather scruffy and if I could read bird faces I would say that there is worry in its eyes and frown lines across its brow. In this moment I lay across the bed in a lulled state, the cooler on and quietness around me, but the thrush is jittery and alert. It hasn't seen me and so I continue writing this story in my head, being still and focusing on the words to describe what I'm feeling and observing. Savouring them to press into the pit of my gut and regurgitate them later into some kind of narrative.

Finally it sees me and eyes me straight up before darting from my view. I reach for the laptop and begin to draw the words from my creative junkyard, where nothing is ordered but everything is retained.

Fire is an element of this earth. Just as we are. We are both a product of nature and of forces combined. We witnessed that lightning strike the afternoon it hit the mountain. We felt it in our hearts and bones that it meant danger. Instinct is seeped deep whether we acknowledge it or not. And if you stay focused and tuned in it is a driving force to action, survival built on the memory cells of our ancestors.

We create our lives, our dwellings, our paths. Humans are clever, we make stuff. But we belong to nature, just like the thrush who is tuned to its surrounds, so should we be. We are full of thoughts and ideas that accumulate in our mind. And although we may think some of them lost and floated away forever, I believe that they are all in our creative junkyard, where they can be retrieved and then made into something different, something unexpected, unique and full of aged instinct that is created only by you.





From 25km's away, as we all arrived to safety.





Tuesday, December 24, 2013

The white Christmas tree and me.

I should be baking. What all good mothers do.

Maybe Im just not that good. My plans today are to make truffles, bake a Frittata, take the kids for a short bike ride, take my mother for a very overdue coffee, wrap presents, pack, water, clean, wash, sweep, pack more, direct and breathe. And while my wheezing chest continues and my hacking cough vibrates off the side of the mountain....... ok so thats a slight exaggeration but bothering all the same, I desperately TRY and keep my cool with the kids at their constant tussles. But after all that, I am left feeling belittled by society. It's a shit of a thing.

I realise to moan about such trivial things as being a mother and the trials of, is such a boring topic, and so ungrateful, and way too typical, and well you know it's all the mummy bloggers reaping in the cash, selling their children's souls on the internet crap as well. Such a disgrace and all.

I think what pisses me is the tone, when the term mummy bloggers is referred to. Just that condescending moment from a newsreaders introduction in that slightly belittling way, of here we go the mummies are having their say, lets humour them. It is complete disrespect.

(Well hello, this was meant to be a lovely little post on making a xmas tree.)

So this experience bellow is maybe what set me off.

The other night I encountered a situation where I was at a small country Xmas cricket break up. I was standing with a few friends having a chat. One of the husbands of the women in the group came up and started to comment that this was just like a little mothers group… Then a moment later he announced he’d had enough mothers group talk in a joking way, and headed off, we kinda laughed but I was pissed off. He walked over to a group of men and I knew he was going to refer to the mothers group joke again, and sure enough a few of the men laughed and turned in our direction, so I stuck my finger up at them in a gesture to say fuck you, a bit of shock on some of their faces, a few gave a nod of good on ya… that don’t buy into that shit. But again it was the belittling of women’s conversations to mens. Because men's talk apparently is so much more important. 

And just because my relevance and priority is my children and family, and I am not talking fucking sport, money or politics on here, it does not mean that I am a second rate citizen and that the worth of my words, thought and expression is either.


And to top it all off I have a recorder blaring in my ear that my 6 year old was given as a gift today. Do you even know how that combusts inside my head. Now here is the bloody xmas tree and have a merry goddamn xmas. xx


Okay so this is not this xmas tree. But it could of been. Isn't it wonderful.
Wayne made it for me, it sits so I can see it from the studio. Thanks honey.

Not a xmas tree, but cool though.

Here we go, apricot branch sprayed painted white.

...and a beautiful red gum base made by wayne.

Tada!


Recently heard these guys. Feel the music and breathe.




Sunday, December 15, 2013

I'm not giving up.

Dear Blog,

I still want you..... and I still need you. I just seem to have lost some of my time of being here, to elsewhere.

I have so much stuff to divulge to you. I mean, there are sculptures being made, food being grown, art being created and things being built. And in-between that... is my mind, processing and surviving the duelling with-in. There is always that component of me that is unable to articulate in the language of every day living. But now, outside of this blog, I have found other avenues and outlets to expunge some of the corrosion that had worn into rusty grit. I have some shiny new parts that are being maintained and nurtured elsewhere. You see, I don't want to tangle up my stories and bare all of my pain.... on to you.

Weeks seem to pass in rapid motion and I am staring down the barrel of another christmas once again. And its almost been a month of not writing on you and six months since I turned in my 40th year on this earth, and that celebration still sits fresh and magical, right in the base of my heart.

And in my new transforming self I realised that Instagram's a bastard. It's a quick fix to a creative soul. I'm already a bloody shadow artist and I'v been using the shit out of that thing to try satisfy my artistic needs. I explained to a friend the other day how I had been sitting out in the paddock one late afternoon, with a beer in hand and the open space alight with a deep golden haze, and all the dandelion wishes stretching through the hay coloured grass were adrift and laden with the promise of magic and truth. All real and alive. And as a tear seeped in the corner of my eye with the beauty of it... I had to fight that annoying urge to go back to the house and retrieve that little device and bastardise the whole moment. So Instead I fought, I determinedly lay down and let the grass seeds prickle my body like needles into a voodoo doll, and then those tiny tears roll down the side of my face, directly to earth. And as I blew wish after wish into air above me I held that moment to me as my own little keepsake.

Obviously my narration to my friend was a little different, because I am incapable of coherent sentences verbally anyway, and it would of sounded wanky as hell. But I know she new what I meant.

But Yes.. no, (thats an african thing by the way, that yes.. no, thing when explaining something or being asked a question. It's crazy speak and such a contradiction, like Africa.) I have been doing Art projects that have been assigned to me by a beautiful Artist friend. It has been so good for my bones and blood. And I will be posting some here shortly when I locate that lost time I had for here previously. I will find you. You little shit.


And as I am prone to contradiction my self, here a few snaps that may or may not have been touched by that bastard Instagram.










 


















Rest dear man. x
                           

             So in conclusion; I'm not dissing you blog. I am just readjusting and sorting. 

Rex.