one year ends, another begins…


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January 1st, my traditional walk to see in the new year, and all was bright, dare I say, promising. And then I caught myself, not hoping for too much, just focusing on that moment of sunrise, welcoming in the day/month/year. So many of us are being reserved and not expecting much that is different and yet clinging to a small shred of hope that things will begin to ease somewhat this year. I can’t even imagine what it was like for the world to live with polio for 12 years before there was a vaccine for it. We are all pretty weary. I can hear it in people’s language and tone. Even for those of us who have not suffered severely, we have still been effected. In our case here in the Centre of Australia, the virus has really only just arrived to a great degree. We are living with a mask mandate, lockout and regulations too numerous to mention. Because things are so bad in the southern states our supply of food and other things have grown more inconsistent. But not desperate.

January 1, 2022

The last few months of 2021 I meant to write a kind of ‘catch up’ post for the year. I like for the blogs I follow to catch me up every now and then on what they have been doing and how their life has gone. But I didn’t. So here is a bit about my last year with a few suggestions for this year. My journey learning to paint with pastels continues, though the end of the year saw quite a few bumps and delays in the development of things, partly because I took a course for 6 weeks. Briefly, I learned a few things however mostly it was a refresher in basic colour theory, value and composition. These were valuable but I realised when I finished the course that the style of work the artist taught wasn’t taking me in the direction I wanted to go. Also, I realised all of the participation in the Facebook group (required) was just too time consuming and not productive for me. So I took myself off, back into my own direction and I can feel it is the right thing to do. But now I need time to be doing it without travel and without quarantines and PCR tests soaking up time.

‘Naked Ladies’ after a small rain shower.

Reading proved to be a handy diversion for all the liminal time presenting itself this year. I thought I’d share with you the titles of my favourites and a very brief explanation in case you are interested. There were a few books that were good but I hesitate to recommend in the current climate of disease and death, so I won’t, and a number of disappointments that I either finished and was disappointed in how they were resolved, or just didn’t finish at all. My feeling is, life is too short to read a book that just isn’t doing it for me. So I don’t. A couple of years ago I started to realise my favourite genre was memoirs. However, this year I refined my search to ‘well written memoirs that read like novels’, and then I got off on a little tangent of well-written-memoirs-about-hiking. Goodness knows I wasn’t expecting that. I’m not a hiker but as you know I do like a good walk, so perhaps I’m living vicariously with this type of book. Whatever the reason, I hoovered through the last three selections like nobody’s business. Here’s the list, commencing in Jan 21, finishing Dec 21:

  • The Book of Ebenezer Le Page by G.B. Edwards – this is an older book and reads like a memoir, though the author insisted it wasn’t – life on the island of Guernsey around WWII. It is not exciting but it is a good story and written in a way I could picture everything about the place and people and the voyeur in me enjoyed it.
  • Flesh Wounds by Richard Glover – makes a person look at their own family differently, I suspect.
  • The Dog Who Came to Stay by Hal Borland – a lovely dog story with a nice ending (trust me)
  • The Salt Path by Raynor Winn – I ate this up. Great story and very real people with very real struggles, hiking the Southwest Path in England.
  • The Silent Wild by Raynor Winn – The next chapter of life for the two people of The Salt Path. Almost as good, and still well worth reading.
  • A Walk in the Woods by Bill Bryson – This made me chuckle and the story and factual information along the way was very interesting to me. It is about hiking The Appalachian Trail in the eastern USA. If you’ve seen the movie (and I don’t advise it) read the book, it is so much better.

I have kept up the garden I built in May 2021. Probably typical of most gardeners, whether novice or experienced, I tried a few new things—had some failures but a few successes. I’m sure I would have been more successful but I’m not a real gardener, to be honest. I think I might do more except for the heat. Working in the heat depletes me and consequently, I have no energy for other things. However…with fairly consistent, but minimal, effort I have become the Queen of Greens! My best efforts other than with herbs, have been with beets and chard/silverbeet. Also rocket/arugula grows like crazy, but a little of that goes a long way with me. As you can see in the photo, Don’s lime tree has filled in the espaliered branches nicely and we are hoping next season to see some limes on it. In a year when our grocery stores have not been able to keep up consistent supplies of fresh vegetables, the silverbeet has proved very handy. It has about finished now that we are into the very hottest part of summer and I will let things rest until March or April when the weather cools a bit again.

Just over a week into the new year I walked the same path at the same time of the morning as on the first day, noting that the sun was already rising later, which augers well for those of you wishing for longer, warmer days in a few months, and those of us wanting cooler weather as well. Far in the distance I heard a human voice, calling out—loudly. I thought perhaps they called a dog as sometimes people let their dogs off leash to run about in the early hours when no one else is about. But the shouting continued, as if a one sided conversation was happening. I squinted into the dawn lit path ahead (see above photo for approximate lighting) and eventually a small figure appeared, shouting and gesticulating in the direction of the hills, and walking briskly. Being the only other human in sight I decided to err on the side of caution in case the person was drunk or unwell, and I quickly changed route. Reasonably certain I had avoided any possible problem, I walked briskly in the same direction as the other person was headed but on parallel paths, rather than the same path. About two thirds of the way home I had to cross over and again heard the shouting voice. When I turned she was only a few feet over my shoulder and suddenly quiet. It was a young, maybe 20 year old indigenous woman, not appearing drunk and in fact quite tidy and attractive looking. But so close… I wondered how, almost like an apparition, she had made up that distance and was just over my shoulder. As soon as I was passed her she veered onto a different path and began loudly talking again, but not shouting as before. I had seen enough to know she wasn’t wearing earphones or carrying a mobile phone, and then I realised…she had been talking to the spirits of the land. Some of the more traditionally raised indigenous are taught to talk to the spirits, especially if they are moving through someone else’s land. They are telling the spirits what their business is and telling them to behave, which was why she had seemed to shout at the hills and valleys along the path. Once I realised what was going on and she meant no harm, I thought ‘I want some of that!’ I want to shout at the spirits and tell them to ‘shape up, stop messing with us and let us live without all your tricks and surprises’. Maybe this should be added to our armoury in dealing with the pandemic. It might be a bit loud, but it wouldn’t hurt anyone and it might make us feel better.

Meanwhile, be well.

Talk to the hills…that ghost gum looks like a true survivor.

call me late for dinner…


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What if the most important thing in life is to figure out what we really think, want, feel? What if our biggest problem is the influence others wield over us, be they close acquaintances, family or far away aspirational figures, because we don’t know what we want? This thought occurred to me as I was packing my suitcase. Why did I want to take that particular piece of clothing—for comfort, to please someone else, or maybe just convention—you can’t be seen in anything but a dress if you are a certain age—or something equally ridiculous. And right then my brain exploded with the knowledge that I’ve been doing this all of my life, with e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g.

And then the thought, ‘but is this always a bad thing?’

It has taken nearly two years for Covid to finally exert its weight on me enough that I feel like a drowning woman at times. And I know I’m lucky. But still… still there are these constant decisions one must make to protect, nurture and grow oneself, not to mention the responses to nurture, protect and respond to those close to us. If you are an introvert and a ‘Highly Sensitive Person’ (HSP is a thing, researched and published by Elaine N. Aron, Ph.D) this is a thick layer of complexity added to our already complex human existence, now compounded by layers of the Covid Effect.

I know some of you are struggling too, I’ve read your emails and blogs and this is effecting all of us in some way. At the time of writing, to go to South Australia and back here to Alice Springs again we have to have an approved border arrival document, a vaccination certificate to show upon arrival, a downloaded and set up G2G app so they can track us, and a negative covid test result within 72 hours of returning. We are triple vaxxed, so it is different for those who cannot be vaccinated or who choose not to be. As we recently experienced traveling to Adelaide to have tests done, the travel restrictions impact access to hospitals (where both tests were performed), causing us to add a week to our time away, and the costs that incurred. There are cancelled flights to rebook as the airlines attempt to get up and running again and are struggling to be viable. These times require great flexibility and knowing one’s inner strengths and sensitivities helps with that.

The first time I had to wear a mask in March 2020, it nearly set off a panic attack for me—sweaty palms and arm pits and shallow breathing on top of jet lag was not a great start. So I have been very grateful not living in a place where, until recently, I had to wear one much at all. During the times we’ve had to wear them we started bantering about the advantages of mask wearing—to ease the discomfort probably. I began to compile a list and thought it might be a bit of fun for you to see it.

If you wear a mask…

  • You don’t have to cover your mouth when yawning (handy)
  • You don’t have to worry that you have food in your teeth (my favourite)
  • You don’t have to worry if your nose is running
  • You don’t have to worry that there are foreign objects in your moustache (not me, personally…)
  • You don’t have to clean behind your ears (the bands do it for you?)
  • You don’t have to trim or wax your moustache (again, I’ve had help from a certain moustached person in my life on this one…)
  • Don’t have to tweeze stray hairs on your chin (yep, me all the way)
  • Don’t have to wear lipstick (me too, not him…)
  • Don’t have to wear makeup on lower half of your face (except if you are going somewhere you can remove the mask and then you have this kind of two-toned look to your face)
  • It helps to stop biting your nails (it’s just too obvious to flip up your mask to nibble a digit, ya know?)
  • You can whisper expletives and no one will know what you said (goodness knows I have to repeat most of what I say anyway!)
  • If anyone asks what you said you can clean it up and lie (ok, I may have done this once…)
  • You don’t have to worry about using breath mints
  • If you have a tongue like a giraffe you can pick your nose with it and no one will see (anonymous contributor–long spotty neck, tho)
  • If you lose a front tooth no one will know
  • It covers your mouth, agape, as you study the daily restaurant specials menu on the wall (c’mon we all do this…)
  • When you fall into that ugly sleep on the plane, you don’t have to worry about the drool out the corner of your mouth (contributed by a friend…)
  • When correctly fitted, a mask seems to hold up the ever drooping folds under my chin (ok, wishful thinking…)

I’m sure you can add a thing or two to this list. Or start another list of things not to do when wearing a mask, my personal favourite is ‘sneeze’. Don’t do it, very messy and gross.

The thing is, life is a very messy journey trying to figure out how one feels about everything, if they feel anything, even. Sometimes, having no response is what I wish for, because being highly sensitive seldom allows for that. I’m hoping you have some time to do whatever makes you feel peaceful and authentic in the coming months. I’ll be wearing my mask until I feel ok to remove it and not transmit covid to anyone, because call me late for dinner, but don’t call me prematurely de-maskulated.

(If you agree or don’t agree with mask wearing is not my purpose here. These are my views and a bit of fun and if you have your own views you can play along nicely or start your own blog.)

to see…


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I wrote the first poem, just as it describes, after cataract surgery when we were in Adelaide. We had been home a few weeks when the event in the second poem below happened…

See For Me

The day after my husband had eye surgery
He couldn't see things very well.
He loves a little sweet thing for afternoon tea,
So when he asked me if I would go
And look at the little baked item in the cafe window
And tell him what it was, I did.
I returned to the table and told him it was not
A scroll, as he had thought it was,
But it was 'his kind of thing'.
His eyes looked hopeful and he said 'What?'
It is a chocolate chip, salt and hazelnut cookie.
I could tell he was happy being married to
Someone who knew his kind of thing.
Gecko Toes

It was early in the morning
as I saw the object, pale
and delicate, in the middle
of the kitchen bench.
Gecko skin, familiar
but nonetheless fascinating,
complete with tiny toes.

Cats bring gifts to their owners.
Sometimes inanimate,
but usually dead...
lizard or
bird...but I have
no cat.

And so after 38 years
of marriage to a human
who pays attention,
I have a new treasure
to photograph
or paint or just admire
as I often do.

The lenses inserted where the clouded cataracts were removed, give his eyes a shiny crystalline appearance. What he sees is wonderful for both of us.

the bricklayer and the painting


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Once upon a time, there was a bricklayer who was an artist. His bricklaying was beautiful, but he wanted to paint pictures too. I met this bricklayer when I tried to get someone to give me quotes for a plan I’d drawn up for laying pavers and bricks around our house. He was the only person polite enough (or brave enough) to return my call and to come and look at the work I needed done.

When we bought our rammed earth house over 20 years ago, the house itself was never quite finished and the grounds around it were in a sad state, having never been landscaped. There were at least four different levels that needed to be joined so that one day, in our dotage, if one of us is in a wheel chair, we can be pushed around the outside without having to negotiate stairs.

Scott, the ‘brickie’, it turned out, was also a painter. Of pictures. I was a member of the Art Society and so we struck up many good conversations during his weeks creating our outdoor space. I made him and his offsider coffees and occasionally a bacon and egg sandwich, and he deftly turned the area into the outdoor space I’d imagined. Sometimes we talked about art, sometimes about plants and other common interests. Over the coming years I became quite a fan of his work and asked him to paint something for me, whatever he wanted as long as it was a landscape, which was his speciality.

Asking an artist to ‘paint me something’, I now know, is a ‘never, never job’. The artist never knows what you would like and so they never contact you. He seemed to sell everything as soon as it was finished and so years later I still had none of his work—except the beautiful patio, of course.

In August this year, the Art Society held its annual Advocate Art Award. Local artists of all levels and disciplines enter their work for sale. It is well supported by both artists and viewing audiences. The week before we headed to Adelaide to see the surgeon for Don’s cataracts and to visit our daughter, I needed to have a painting for her framed (see lemons still life). Scott now has a framing business called Desert Edge, which gives his back and knees a rest from the paving and bricklaying. I went to see him about the framing and while there he showed me the preliminary painting he’d done for this year’s entry to the AAA. It was lovely. While there he told me how busy he’d been with the framing work and really he would have liked another week to finish his entry. This is a frequent artist’s lament.

The following week he rang to say he’d finished framing our daughter’s painting and I could pick it up. On my way there I had to drive by the gallery hosting the Art Award and knew I wouldn’t have another chance to see it before we headed to Adelaide. So I stopped. The very first painting into the exhibition was a beauty, a large one of a tree in our central Australia landscape. Wait…as I reflected on the smaller study he had shown me, I realised this had to be Scott’s. After confirming this with the exhibition catalogue, I couldn’t believe my luck, it had not yet sold! Taking no chances, I turned straight around and went to the desk and told them I wanted to buy it. After the business was sorted the sales person asked if I wanted to place the ‘red dot’ on the painting number, indicating it was sold. I readily accepted–it made the purchase even more memorable. I went back to the gallery, admired my purchase and placed the red dot on number 9, Black Cockatoo Highway. And then I viewed the rest of the show.

When I got to Scott’s shop I casually mentioned, ‘Oh, I stopped to see the Art Award and your painting has sold.’ He looked stunned and thought for a moment and then looked at me and said ‘Did you buy it?” I very quietly said ‘mmmaybe….’ And then he excitedly asked again ‘Did you buy it?’ 

‘Yes, I bought it.’ 

He seemed pleased. Phew. I wasn’t sure there for a moment, thinking there might be some horrible satanic secret I was unaware of…if you buy a painting of a tree you will lose a limb or some such nonsense.

I said to him, I had a couple of requests, however…could he collect it because we would be in Adelaide when the show closed, and then could he take however much time he needed and finish it? It looked perfectly finished to me, but this was for him. I would also need him to hang it for me because of its size, to which, he happily agreed, as I hoped he would.

Later that night I awoke in a panic. Where would I hang Black Cockatoo Highway?? Our house doesn’t have many spare walls, being mostly rammed earth and windows. I had one space in a spare room that was sort of large enough but wouldn’t show it to best advantage. All that day I ran around with the tape measure in between packing my bags for Adelaide. Finally a stroke of genius came to me, I would move the hat rack in our entry way and hang it there so it could be viewed the way it deserved.

Scott the painter/artist/hanger of pictures.

Once we returned from Adelaide our very handy next door neighbour agreed to move the hat rack for me. I resurrected my interior painting skills and patched, sanded and painted the wall, ready for Scott’s creation. A few days later he brought the finished painting and hung it for me.

A special place for Scott’s painting.

Life is such an interesting journey, and the story of how Black Cockatoo Highway came to me warms my heart.

green and gold*…


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Whoosh! chartreuse chatter

lifts into a golden evening.

Imagination did not prepare me for

the spectacle of wild budgies as they

heave and push through spent grasses

veering to and fro

as if one mind.

Such sights are rare in the flesh.

In videos transmitted by lines and pixels,

the living sound and colour cannot

be matched by our devices.

So let the earth dust your shoes

and the dew settle on your brow.

It is so worthwhile.

* Today, September 1 is the first day of Spring, also Wattle Day. The golden wattle are in blossom in the southern states but here I have captured our version of green and gold (our national colours), featuring wild budgerigars and the winter’s dried, golden grasses. I’ve been feeling a little poetic lately too…and by the way, a ‘chatter’ is what a large flock of budgies is called!

Wattle in the Mt. Lofty Botanic Gardens near Adelaide, South Australia.

the dream, so far…


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When Don retired we both needed to do some rearranging of investment/retirement funds. Mine had been paid for by me with my freelance work over the years so Don felt it was fair that I get to choose what to do with it. It didn’t look like we would need it to live on so I chose to invest it in our home, and myself. I had a dream, goal, wish, whatever you want to call it, that one day I could do whatever art I wanted to do, not for pay, but because it fulfilled me. So I chose to invest the money by enlarging our carport shed so that most of it would be my studio…one day. As you may remember it became the ‘shedio’, part shed, part studio.

For years I dabbled with this or that and it seemed I would just never fully ‘own’ the space. Since discovering pastels earlier this year and moving my practise space there, it is seeming more and more like I belong. I love that the floor is raw concrete, which I don’t have to be precious with. And the wall over the storage area has a pin board material installed so I can display inspirational pieces. One day, I really looked at the area, and realised it was kind of a mess, and decided to contemplate how I might reorganise it. 

On a cold, rainy morning a few days later, I converted what was a disheveled space wanting some purpose and definition, to a space I could love spending hours in. If you picture me as a long suffering artist with few creature comforts, I’m not that person. I cranked up the classical music, and the heater, and began the transformation. I wondered how it happened that the space had slowly transformed from hopeful to haggard. I think it lacked love. It was created with love and my vision at the time, 11 years ago. But slowly, one pencil, one tube of paint, one discarded canvas at a time it was invaded and the vision was buried, just like my own creative practise had been.

Suddenly, all of that was in the Past and it became easy to sort through the books, materials and distractions, deciding which could stay and which had to be removed. I think one of those sped up videos of the process would have been funny to watch. I went in and out, to the bin to the office and back again. I rummaged the kitchen for just the right dish for drawing pins for the display board and returned things no longer required to their various homes. I just removed everything that wasn’t pastel painting…nearly. I have retained my acrylics for painting because I hope to live a long time yet, and plenty of pastel artists paint with a brush too.

When I was thinking through the plan, a day or so before, I envisioned all the practical rearrangements. As the time drew nearer for me to execute the changes, it suddenly popped into my head to remove all the other artists’ work I had pinned on the cork board for inspiration. Why? I could now replace it with my own work! I was inspiring myself. It is now as if I’ve opened a little gallery with an exhibition of not just works, but a little dream I’ve carried for a long time.

It was quietly thrilling.

In my office I have a little phrase cut out from a magazine that I have had for so many years I don’t even remember how I originally planned to use it . It simply says: ‘your dreams miss you’. 

Not any longer.

when I’m dead…



Why is it we seem to have to go to the brink in life to awaken to ourselves? I don’t know anyone who escapes life’s tragedies and is wiser for that lack of experience. We seem to learn the most profound things from those big moments and near misses. But once in a while, if we pay attention, we get a moment of clarity that raises our awareness and appreciation for life, without the suffering.

Life is full of work and things to be done, or avoiding them and living down a rabbit hole—I choose the first one most of the time. By the time I exercise, clean the body, feed our household, do the most necessary of cleaning jobs and get what sleep I can, there is comparatively little discretionary time. And these days one of my joys is thinking about creating things rather than life’s big questions, which if I were going to be able to answer them, I probably would have in my 68 years on this earth. But I haven’t and probably won’t. I think about colour themes, about how to discern value more effectively, and what effects can be achieved on which kind of paper. And about trying to be honest and kind, both of which are challenging endeavours.

Some days I’m lucky enough that my morning walk helps me see a new corner of the environment  to enthuse my painting sessions. In between all of the above I keep inspiring myself with new reading, listening and viewing of other artists’ works. One morning I was listening to a podcast interview with Andrew Greig, a Scottish poet and writer. I love a Scottish accent. (Must be genetic as my paternal Grandmother’s family was named Carlisle.) What captivated me was the title of the interview ‘When I’m dead, I will love this.’ He tells a story of running home in the cold and rain from the fish and chip shop, to keep his meal from getting soggy. And he thinks, as clearly as anything, as he is running, how wonderful running and a hot fish and chip meal would be if he was dead. I get it. It left me with shivers and tears on the rims.

We whir around in our complex world full of news stories and disaster and lists of jobs and people to please, when all the time we are doing the small miraculous things that humans do. We are spellbound at sunrises, marvel at nature, rejoice when we find a key we thought we’d lost, are amazed when our children are so much smarter than we were at that age…or kinder  than we realised. These things we know. They are right in front of us every single day and we forget to look. We forget to think, ‘when I’m dead, I will love this.’

Grass growing in rock – Ardys Zoellner 6/21

**This was going to be my last blog post. I had decided…or so I thought, I had nothing left to say. But after thinking it over the last couple of weeks I’ve decided this is the one place in my life I have the most control, where I can make up most of the rules. I even pay to keep the ads off this page so that you all won’t be dogged by those who glean data to try to sell you things. I won’t try to sell you anything. This is just my experience in the world for you to take or leave as you wish. I’m going to hang around for a while.

adjustments and such..


At long last. I am vindicated for a lifetime of keeping a precautionary stash of pantry goods. That is, I’ve always been ready for a small famine. And now Alice Springs is in lockdown. This is the first we have seen of this (having been away last year in the Southern Ocean at the start of the pandemic) and I can’t help but wonder what the thousands of caravans full of visitors here for the good weather and the free lifestyle are thinking about now!

When we returned from our trip last year, the initial lockdowns and emergency precautions had eased. We were allowed to isolate in our home for two weeks. It was a bit weird but we adjusted. Since then there has been much more weirdness to adjust to. New protocols when entering shops ranging from all kinds of strange sanitising concoctions, to scanning QR codes for better contact tracing. New phone apps to install…some that actually work. We live in interesting times.

Our masks now hang beside our hats and scarves, as if they have always belonged there. The first morning I dressed for my walk in the 4C degree temps, I donned the mask and sunglasses and then tried to open my phone to start a podcast. Why wouldn’t my phone open? Ah, face recognition was not recognising me! Not sure most people who know me would have recognised me for that matter. On the mostly empty golf course walk, I did see a couple of parents walking small children, from a distance, a lone woman walking and another one in the far distance walking her dog. The adults were all wearing masks and I was buoyed that my fellow humans and I were all working together on this thing. Before the pandemic, we only saw face masks being worn by a number of Asian migrants and tourists in the bigger cities, and sometimes in Alice Springs because we get a lot of tourists here. Beyond that, most of us didn’t dream they would become necessary for our health, let alone a fashion statement. I have a collection of them. You can now buy a face mask with just about any kind of design on it you would like. I’m pretty conservative so I go for the simple things with regard to body adornment.

The first day of our lockdown was mostly a repositioning exercise. Given we had only an hour and a half notice, Don had to quickly pack up his desk at the Uni and bring home his work paraphernalia. Being I have spent huge chunks of time at home for many months, I could only speculate if the groceries I had ordered the previous day would arrive the next day, or if the hoards of panicked shoppers would wipe out the shelves—yet again. I scoured the freezer and pantry to loosely plan replacement meals in case the grocery items didn’t appear. Most of them eventually did appear, with a few substitutions and one ‘out of stock’.

For weeks we have had ‘temporarily out of stock’ notices for online shopping, so I have worked around it. Why? Because we have had literally thousands of people pulling their caravans up here from the southern states, where they hoped to enjoy the warmth and relative safety of the Northern Territory. What people don’t realise is, we are not like the southern areas where the shelves can be restocked from the distribution centres within a few hours. It is days, sometimes a week or even two before our shelves are restocked. To be honest, we have enough trouble getting goods at the best of times, and this is a bit beyond that. Which is why, I refer you back to the opening paragraph, and mostly try to keep a stocked pantry and freezer.

Don is on the greens committee for the local golf course. Since he is missing his normal rounds of golf, his version of exercise at the moment is to walk the holes and mark down the location of the valve boxes for watering. Not mentally stimulating but since the golf course has no record of them and they need one, he is doing a good deed and getting his exercise as well. One hour at a time, of course, because that is all we are allowed out for exercise. My exercise is housework and my usual stretches and morning walk.  So, nothing different. The afternoons are saved for a bit of rest, reading or movie viewing and some painting. Most recently I’ve been practicing painting lemons. We have a tree full so the reference material is to hand, but it was also a request from a special someone. I’m not doing commissions but I have told a couple of people I will notify them if I do something I think they might find interesting. Commissions give me the heebie-jeebies. For so many years I had to work for others whose agendas were mostly not invested in my self expression. Go figure. So these days I truly work on what makes me happy.

And just like that, on day 2 of our lockdown, it was over. A day early even. We almost settled into it and then there was a new normal. We wear a mask when in public and shopping but no longer have to wear one for exercise out in the open. It is precautionary, we have no community transmitted cases. My phone still doesn’t recognise me, but other than that the whole thing was of little consequence to me personally, and hopefully of good use to the public at large. I do feel for people with small businesses and families, they are the worst hit by these lockdowns. So this morning we went to our local IGA to do the shopping and put some money into the locals who own it. There is always some little thing we can do to help others, even in these unusual circumstances.

And there is painting to be done.

an affection for confection…



I walked an hour to get a bakery item. Well, strictly speaking I only walked 15 minutes for said item because I usually go for a 30-45 minute walk each morning anyway, and the walk to The Bakery only requires about another 15 minutes. But for this particular bakery item I would walk a full hour if necessary. We do have a car but that morning I decided to combine purposes of exercise and getting the object of my confection addiction into one. As it turned out it was more of a sensory experience than I’d planned.

Tired of listening to my usual podcasts I decided to listen to an ebook I bought a while back. Michael Caine’s ‘Blowing the Bloody Doors Off’ was a good choice, interesting, entertaining and you get to hear his great voice as well. Might have been a strong undercurrent message with that title and my mood…

Fledgling Crested Pigeon (much smaller than it looks in this photo)

The thermometer read 6C, a see-your-breath nippy morning! I rugged up and took off a bit after 7am before I had a chance to change my mind. On the way out the door I grabbed the bird seed and fed the birds as well. I wondered if there were so many of them because word had spread of my heroic effort to save a young crested pigeon the day before. It had been attacked by a large crow and was traumatised as well as minus a few tail feathers, so for a few hours I watched over it and then when it suddenly came good I opened the box and it flew under the eave on the front verandah and finally off into the warm afternoon. So all his relatives may have come to thank me by eating my seed? Hmmm. Never mind, my heart is warm.

Early morning is a beautiful time of the day in late May. The sun is just coming up and casts long shafts of golden light between the shadows of the trees along the Todd River bed. So I paused often to photograph it for potential painting ideas.

Early morning along the Todd River

Recently it was Don’s turn to procure our weekly multi-grain sourdough loaf and to get each of us a sweet treat only to find my favourite almond croissant wasn’t available that day. I settled for a piece of his pistachio scroll. Life is torturous at times. I’ve been trying to hold off having the almond beauty to only every few weeks. That way my jeans still fit and it remains a  much anticipated treat and doesn’t get old hat. Who wants to eat an old hat, I ask you?

The last time Don was at The Bakery a lady in front of him asked for an almond croissant and then asked if they would shake it so that the sugar and almonds on the top fall off before they put it in the bag. If you were that person, forgive my judgment but what were you thinking??? First of all, the marzipan filling would still mean there was almond and sugar in it, and secondly, couldn’t  you do that yourself and save the hurt feelings of the poor baker who had been up since 2am baking such a heavenly treat as would make angels weep? Honestly, is it any wonder there are people like me who embrace their introversion…rhetorical question, does not need answering.

My confection addiction, Almond Croissant from The Bakery, Alice Springs

After a small bowl of fruit and yogurt studded with a couple of tablespoons of homemade granola, I carefully removed 1/3 of the croissant to finish my repast. Another third of it was consumed with a cup of tea mid-morning, and the final third was my dessert that evening after a bowl of lentil soup. Left to my own devices, I do live wild and loose.

Be well.

Note: It appears WordPress has made more ‘improvements’ to their system and this post has behaved very oddly in its assembly, so please let me know if anything is amiss…

if I knew where I was going…


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Many times over the years Don and I have philosophised about golf being a metaphor for life. It is often uncannily so. Lately, I have been thinking of my journey with painting in much the same way.

Some weeks ago I painted a small experimental piece, based on a YouTube lesson I’d watched. As I was finishing it I tossed the pastel in my hand over into the little pile I’d been using and murmured to myself ‘No, no, no, I’m just not getting it’. I turned out the light and that was it for the day. The next morning I came in and looked at it with fresh eyes, expecting to loathe what I’d done, and instead realised I loved it. I had learned a very good lesson. My discouragement had been that my piece didn’t look like the artist’s in the lesson. Silly me, that’s not what I want at all! I want it to look like my style, not hers—and it does! It is not great, the composition is was not wonderful at all, but the ‘look’ of it is a step closer to what I have been dreaming of, and there it was right in front of me. I didn’t recognise it because I was so preoccupied looking for the other artist’s style.

There are many things to learn when one is creating. It is equal parts thrill and frustration. Frank Gehry, the well known architect, described it well: 

For me, every day is a new thing. I approach each project with a new insecurity, almost like the first project I ever did. And I get the sweats. I go in and start working, I’m not sure where I’m going. If I knew where I was going I wouldn’t do it.–Frank Gehry

For me it’s boring to repeat the same journey over and over. I too ‘get the sweats’ every time I start a new painting–as if my life depends on its success, which it certainly does not. Such is the standard to which I hold myself, the self flagellating behaviour I have learned, and am trying to unlearn. But once engrossed in the process everything else falls away when I get those colours in my fingers and see where both my conscious mind and intuition wants them to go. Being swept along in that flow is the payoff.

We need to explore our inner depths, solve new problems and gain new insights. Part of that for me has been the very basic task of sourcing supplies. The challenge of living in a remote area with few resources for art supplies has meant that some weeks I spend almost as much time sourcing materials as I do painting. A lack of good paper has been my biggest problem. I can order it and it will be here in two weeks, if I know what to order. Which I don’t. Until very recently, when I had completed enough painting on different surfaces to finally have a preference, I was stumbling around with this one. I watch videos and learn techniques for applying marks to a variety of surfaces. And then I practice. At this point in my learning trajectory it is hard to know if the problem is with my technique, or the surfaces…probably both! I’ve even learned how to apply a rough surface to smooth boards and papers making homemade pastel paper. Now, if the ordered supplies do not show up as scheduled, I won’t go completely without. It’s all part of the process and no doubt will change time and again over the coming years.

I’ve had a couple of worrying breaks in the process while we had more urgent things to attend to in our life. Always I reminded myself I only needed to return to the task for one minute. One break was planned–the pastel dust was a problem. I was trying to paint in the office with carpet on the floor–light carpet at that! So I made the decision to move out to the little space that is our ‘shedio’. Two thirds of the space is my studio and one third is Don’s tool shed–so christened ‘shedio’. It is not a glamorous space, but it is very practical and not unpleasant, having been renovated about ten years ago. It is surprising how far that journey is, however–those ten steps between the front door and the shedio door. And because of break-ins in the town I have to always lock the front door behind me when I’m in the shedio, and likewise the shedio door if I come into the house for a break. That transition happened a few weeks ago now and along with the new car, I’m starting to feel comfort with both situations. Always in the back of my mind, though, is the thought that if I feel pressured or lost, I only have to be there for one minute…no matter the result.

Gum tree looking over the MacDonnell Ranges

We don’t know what we don’t know. With every painting I am finding new problems to solve. Somehow the information I need to keep moving ahead comes into my life and I move forward one baby step at a time.

Sweaty hands, learning, solving problems, making preparations, small victories, crappy results, baby steps…how is art anything but a metaphor on Life?

Eucalypts at Simpson’s Gap