movement

The Surprising Smell of Australia

un-felted

Slowly, slowly, slowly I'm exhaling mist - its physical form through physical action. I've been holding my breath for one entire year, and now, as I breathe out, this is what's forming in the condensation. And oh boy am I breathing heavily. I've been busy rolling, rolling, rolling these long strands of fog out of softly coloured wool.

"You look like you're making noodles."

I wonder if people who make noodles hurt this much in the morning. Every day I wake with a groan. But I love this feeling, my aching body feels real and present. It's making something true, something it needs to. This pain is the feeling of growth.

As I walk through the streets and parks I pretend I am walking through a classical Chinese landscape. Beijing is so far removed from these images and yet if you squint you can see yourself  as that eremitic wanderer. In Canberra, when I walk though the streets and parks, I imagine myself as forest-dweller, sometimes a fairy tale figure. In many ways the project reminds me of home but it's the smell of the work that's the strongest trigger, something I didn't expect. It's the wool.  I need to wet it in order to felt it, and the smell seems such an Australian experience that it's comforting to return to it every day. And every day I'm a little less sore as my body accommodates. Odd sadness here is frequent but these feelings assure me I'm on the right path.

early mists           early mists

layering

steed

At the Temple of Heaven

Forests

We are living in the forest. The weather here is bad; but surly, cold clouds seem to make things special.The next change in the forest will bring an exiting type of permanence.

I have been making things that don't quiet fit together. These sculptures are sitting on my desk, their segments jutting out at uncomfortable angles when they should be smooth, seamless surfaces. Art always seems to be an effort of control. Not control of materials, which are perfect, but control of my own body. One day I hope to fully understand my hands, my movements.

I am fitting many things together. I am trying to form objects to suit all nooks and crannies. Some of these objects don't quite fit, but they are still beautiful, sublime. At times like this all I can do is know these objects, these feelings. Have them fill me, and engorged in beauty and love I am ultimately happy.

movement

I don't want to segregate art making form the rest of my life; I don't want art to be confined to one room any more. I want to approach my life as I approach art. I want to approach art as I approach my life. Art is a result of movement, I like to think about my movements as I work. It is a part of the work, it is called the work. But movements that occur outside the studio are important, too.

Movements I enjoy -

- walking up a hil

- delicate, clumsy footfalls when descending down a loose path

- cutting small letters from a block of das

- gluing vegetable alphabet letters to paper

- drawing lines with felt tipped textas

- chopping veggies into cubes

I am planing to make a cube of multiple segments that will slot together. I made the mold for it today out of MDF. When it is done it will fit between two hands.