Month: June 2024

That moment of calm …

RDP: FRIDAY – Serenity

Descending into Carnarvon, Western Australia

We are four weeks into winter, so I close my eyes and go to warmer places. I still wake early at dawn most days, even when I’m not travelling. I stumble around in the dark, my footsteps softened by warm bed socks and make myself a cup of coffee in the dark. Even though I live alone, my movements are small, my touch light. I can’t wait for the hiss of the kettle to settle. It is way too loud, when all else is silent.

That serene moment that lies suspended between night and day, is fragile. I am respectful of that.

Until next time

As always

a dawn bird

With these hands …

RDP: Sculpture

Give a child a lump of Playdoh and they will, squeeze, twist and pat, and create something with it. It is the creative and playful mind at work.

To be creative is one thing, but it is not always synonymous with being imaginative. The distinction is this. A child can copy a Lego design beautifully brick by brick, but a child who pulls it apart and creates something of their own, is using their imagination. This distinction is something I’ve always had to be mindful of in my work with children.

When I moved into my current home a decade ago, the dream was to fill it with art and sculpture. The plan was to live in a happy place, a place I could call home. It has taken some time, but I’m getting there.

While striving to shape my dream into a reality, I had to be content with eclectic art and sculpture I found in other places.

Roadside, on the way to Ubud, Bali, Indonesia

The Balinese people make ornate carvings that adorn even the humblest of homes.

At the entrance of my hotel, Bali

Then there are those that are huge and imposing, often found in the hotels.

Outside the hotel spa, Bali

This sculpture, in particular, took me back to childhood years. We had a guava tree that canopied over a small water tank. I spent many an hour, stretched out over a branch, watching people below, pretending I was a leopard.

The sculpture is beautifully made and perhaps best viewed when expanded to see the filigree that makes up the spots on the leopard.

In a friend’s garden, Canberra

I love how someone turned a humble garden spade into a quirky little duck.

Waterbird, sculpture by Jason Wooldridge, a local artist and sculptor in Esperance, Western Australia

I find Jason’s work irresistible and his vision finds a place in my home and heart. I have several of his work. All birds, of course! He takes scrap metal and turns it into delicate sculpture.

Jonathan Jones, indigenous sculptor, National Art Gallery, Canberra

I was in Canberra last year for just two days. My nephew, an architect, asked me what I wanted to do. The National Gallery, of course! Of all that the Gallery offered in the time I was there, I was so drawn to the work of Jonathan Jones. These massive stones were in a huge open space with a narration in Wiradjuri language underpinning a simple but profound message about Country: stay connected, and the reciprocity of need and caring for it. I went to the Gallery with my nephew and his toddler. She sat in the stroller, quiet as a mouse and took it all in, as did we. There was a sense of solemnity that was quite powerful and moving. It was difficult to walk away from this space.

Sculpture by Jonathan Jones, National Art Gallery, Canberra

Sculpture by Jonathan Jones, National Art Gallery, Canberra

I loved this one the most. It was huge and just so very beautiful.

River bed, Murchison River, Kalbarri, Western Australia

And then there are those unexpected sculptures left behind in nature.

Some with angles and edges, waiting for the sculptor’s hand to shape and define. Others, made perfect by the storms and ebb and flow of tides, and all that remains, is just heart. Much like us.

Until next time

As always

a dawn bird

Still flying high …

Word of the Day Challenge: Elated

It’s been too long since I last shared this space with you. So much has happened and so suddenly, that I’ve hardly had time to catch my breath. Reflection seemed too expensive a luxury, so life went on at a pace that I could barely keep up.

For over sixteen years I’ve travelled the breadth of Western Australia. Our State covers a third of Australia, and yet with barely 3 million population. I’ve met the most wonderful people in the most unexpected places. My travel and work has brought me immense joy.

The reality this would end was always at the back of my mind. How would I deal with that reality when it surfaced was a niggling question I dared not answer. I’m pleased to say, I’ve done it, I believe with grace.

Kalgoorlie, Goldfields, Western Australia
In the gold mining town of Kalgoorlie, a town with a huge gold mine, I stood at my hotel window and gazed on it in morning light, as if I had seen it for the first time. There is a church nearby and as I stand on the hotel balcony with coffee mug in hand, I hear the bells toll on the hour and half an hour from 6am. It is a sweet sound. Being a mining town, people are already awake at that hour. So am I. I’ve been to this town several hundred times. I love the history and old heritage architecture. The streets are wide and people during the gold rush came here with big hearts filled with hope and dreams. No different to mine.

Landing in Exmouth, Western Australia
As we headed into winter I was fortunate enough to get work in Exmouth, in our warmer north. The seascape over this region is pretty spectacular. This is a quintessential landscape of Western Australia of isolation and connectedness. If you view the picture on your phone, you’ll find it a couple fishing and relaxing on the beach.

Town Beach, Exmouth, Western Australia
I was too busy in Exmouth. Once word gets out I’m doing outreach work in the area, I am inundated with work. I snuck out between appointments to Town Beach, just a couple of minutes from my hotel, to find it crowded with backpackers at sunset. The BBQ was sizzling, there was loud duff duff music, jugglers, hula hoops and young people swaying like palm trees. Amid the noise and celebration of youth, I caught a moment of serenity.

Bunbury, Western Australia
The contrast could not have been more stark in the South West. I had to make two trips to Bunbury area in a month. At the end of the first trip, I left town an hour before a tornado hit. Yes! a tornado! This took all by surprise. We don’t usually have tornadoes. When I returned I found the big majestic trees split and strewn around. The sound of wood chippers hurt my ears.

Bunbury, Western Australia
A storm raged on the day I had to drive to Busselton, just a mere 50 km away. Midway there was torrential rain like I’ve never experienced before. I clung on to the tail lights of a road train that cleared a flooded road ahead for me. I got to the Bunbury hotel safely, but unable to do much else.

Two days later I had to head north to Carnarvon. I looked forward to the trip with a degree of eagerness, seeking warmth after winter storms. The flight was great as usual. Between Shark Bay and Carnarvon the weather changed. The flight is barely 30 minutes between these two coastal towns. The small plane flew low to land, then took off again. After two more attempts in poor weather, the pilot returned us back to Perth. A FIFO worker behind me, returning home to Carnarvon, was frustrated. He urged, encouraged and then shouted in frustration at the pilot … “just land the effing plane, bro!”. Having spent 11 hours of my day travelling and never reaching my intended destination, I went to bed that night, never happier to be home again.

Just when I was left exhausted from the stress of weather events, I was offered work that will reduce my flying but not loss of income. Committing to the new job felt like Nature placed me in safe hands. I accepted the job without a second thought. I would never have done this had I not experienced a humbling moment.

Being in a small plane in a storm is no fun. One is bounced around like one is in an out of control roller coaster. You tighten your seatbelt. You grip the seat in front of you. You close your eyes to avoid seeing the plane lurch like a drunken uncle. There is no room for fear, just a yearning and a simple prayer, to be on ground again.

Finally your prayer is answered. The screech of tyres on tarmac, is music.

And, that my friends, is a moment of elation!

Until next time,

As always

a dawn bird