Palingenesia Group Exhibition

Wonderful way to start the new year – joint exhibition Palingenesia at Folonomo Gallery, with images from my Floracopia and Returning to My Roots series.

there-are-always-tears-in-time

There are always tears in time

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Blue Veil

One of my earliest images, that I just came across as I was looking through my archives. Some of my favourite things in art – here right from the beginning of my evolution: the colour blue, simplicity, nature and peace.

BLue Veil

Blue Veil

This Time Transient

This Time Transient

I sat

Watched the darkness

This time

Passed me by

Whisper in

the growling doom

With glow bug

Lights

Tiny murmurs mimic wind

 

I sat

Heard the wailing

This time

Deafness saved me

Parachute

Drop and float

On water

Ripples like a long silk cloth

 

Did Walk

And

Run

And breath

 

Did daylight

See

Blue button

Cloudlets

In a breeze

 

These things

Newer

Birthing scare

But I am

Still

 

As if to

As if not to

 

Morning

Comes

I am

Astounded

By

Seconds which

Do not punish

 

Did not ever think.

But now

I

Bask:

 

This time the darkness

Passed.

 

I waved.

 

from the ashes 8 smallFrom the Ashes

Random Detritus

In contemplation of objects. In search of simplicity. In creation of minimalism.

Studies of the random things that people no longer need.

 

Detritus_1

Detritus_2

Random Detritus_3

Random Detritus_4

Random Detritus_5

Detritus_6

Random Detritus_7

Random Detritus_8

Random Detritus_9

 

Fleeting – Part 2

It goes without saying that it’s been a while. But I don’t want to write about that. Before the long silence, the crisis of faith, and the months where I couldn’t even look at the camera, I posted a poem called “fleeting”. Now, finally, I am posting the series of images that goes with it.

I know that I like to write what is an abbreviated version of an artist statement for all of my works, but this one hurts. This is such a personal, honest and heartfelt series, and it has not had the best reception when I got up the guts to offer it to galleries and competitions.

Honesty is what I do, and what I believe in.

I will not ever be the most technically proficient photographer. I will only rarely be neat and clean around the edges. My cropping is eccentric. My focus is deliberately eschew.

Those are not the things I make art for.

Have you ever held your mother, or your daughter, your son or your father, or your brother or sister in your arms and realised how the time has passed? How they are fatter, thinner, taller, more stooped, stronger or more fragile? Have you pulled up your favourite memory of your family and found that it is blurred around the edges, or the middle is missing?

When you learn that someone close to you is suffering, and will suffer more, do you see a part of yourself start to fade? When they start to change beyond recognition and you need somewhere to turn, are there ghosts in the corner of your vision?

This is not just a series about my mother and myself. It is about all of those things and every other change and experience we have ever had. It is our past, present and our path into the future.

For we are Fleeting:

flux

Flux

Steady

Steady

Turning away

Turning Away

Turned her face

Turned Her Face

Us

Us

portraits

Portraits

Once was

Once Was

Only have to ask

Only Have To Ask

Knowing

Knowing

Known

Known

38 years

38 Years

Seeking Solace in the Sea and Sky

I have been putting off posting this series for very strange reasons. Perhaps the strangest of these, for any who know me, is that I am out of words for it. I couldn’t originally figure out why. Words are things that abound in my head, and they flow from me remarkably freely. Perhaps too freely sometimes.

So why the block on this work? And then I realised. This is a work that springs from the moments in between the turbulence. When I am just sinking in to one breath and out of another, letting slip all of the myriad complications I like to add to my life, and indeed, to my art.

I wrote a poem, during the making of this series – a lovely, short, and bracing holiday at Black Head on the New South Wales Coast, where I singularly managed to fail in dragging myself out of bed so I could photograph the most amazing light show out to sea you could imagine. It is a failing of mine, that when it comes to early, late, or generally unfriendly hours, I am lazy photographer. What I did capture, though, was what I sought to, and how often does that happen? The weather, the wind, the rain and the eternal movement and complementary stillness of the ocean and the sky.

Time and simplicity.

Here is the poem, the images and the quiet expression of how it felt as I was:

 

Seeking Solace in the Sea and Sky

For there is solace in the sea and sky

 

when in the moments flicker

shadows

blending one into the other at

the limit of my sight

So water becomes air and

wind rolls in

toward the land.

 

The rain on my face

and the salt

down my throat

as I breath

the waves in time.

 

It is as if peace were a moving

changing wisp

which summoned with the tide

would only stay but such a short

and insubstantial

time

then sweep itself far

out of reach again

 

grasping and catching

releasing

and waiting once more

 

the wash with the water

swirls

the sky mists over

and the grey

envelops

 

my skin is tingling numb

as I am both lost

or found

Whole, yet

missing the intangible

 

as I seek the still perfection

of the line between.

 

I strive for the Horizon.

 

Horizon_016

Horizon #1

Threatening

Threatening

Boomerang_014

Boomerang Beach #1

Boomerang_002

Boomerang Beach #2

Manning Point_004

Manning Swell #1

Red Tide Beings 2

Red Tide Begins #1

Red Tide Begins

Red Tide Begins#2

Red Tide 1

Red Tide#1

Red Tide 3

Red Swell #1

Sunset

Sunset at Blackhead #1

Crowdy Head

Crowdy Head

In the Rain

In the Rain

Fleeting

A little bit of poetic wandering (and wondering) over the transience of our existence, and the power of our family ties.

 

Fleeting.

 

One second

It seems

No more –

Inward

And

Outward breath

 

Just that:

The past is gone

The present goes

And the future

Is a fleeting

Dream

As

I blink.

 

Grasping hands

Cannot close

Fingers about them,

They are

Insubstantial moments

Of extreme

Emotion.

 

A person

Might

Only be the

Memories

Clouded

By remembering.

I will lose them.

 

Please,

Not today.

 

Pomegranates_003_small

Bianca and Pomegranate #1

Pomegranates_002_small

Bianca and Pomegranate #2

 

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