Category Archives: Creativity

what can go wrong…

28 Monday Feb 2022

Posted by in Alice Springs, Creativity, Life

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NOTE: I was putting finishing touches on this piece when Russia invaded Ukraine. It is not my intention to ignore the state of world affairs. I do, however, feel that whatever light and kindness we can contribute to a sometimes brutal world, is a worthy pursuit, so in that spirit I have decided to publish it, with a few changes. I hope it serves useful purpose.

Change is a funny thing. It wants to be done, but in its own way. A couple of months ago, our current series of changes started because we need new carpet. But to replace carpet you must move everything that sits on the carpet. (I guess this also applies to invading a country. To bring in the new, or return an old regime, the current occupants must be displaced or at least severely disrupted.)And since we are not as young as we used to be, I could see this was a big task. It occurred to me one day that if I reduced the amount of belongings in the cupboards, I could move much which was on open shelves into cupboards, thus making the movement of furniture easier. And of course I reduced the amount on the shelves before moving what remained, into the freshly cleared cupboards. Once we decided to do a declutter and new carpet, we also realised our walk-through wardrobe needing updating. The lighting has always been inadequate and the shelves and rails are an inefficient use of space. Thus grew a side project, having new shelves built and tiles to replace carpet on the cupboard floor. Isn’t this what we have all heard about? You paint a wall, and suddenly the adjacent wall looks dingy? And off you go into a domino effect of updating and refreshing…or invading another country, evidently.

In the beginning, back in early January when our events started, daily changes to life threatened anxiety levels, appetite, sleep. The pastel painting had nearly ground to a halt. Counterintuitively, I became obsessed with needing to clear out our living space, even though at first, it didn’t appear to need it. It was something I had control over, which is nothing to be disregarded in our current world. And even more true every passing day. So every day for weeks I have minimised, decluttered and tossed what no longer seems useful. I hasten to add, if you had walked into my house you would not have thought it cluttered. There was even space in most of the cupboards. But what was here, was excess to needs. It clogged the energy highways…just as the rain clogged the literal highways into Alice Springs. Just as delusions of grandeur or testosterone clogged the brain cells of Russian leaders.

While our Covid numbers soared to recored highs for the NT, it rained, flooded, and grocery shelves emptied. All the while I was busy at home with my own clogged energies.

I’m a maker. I always have been, even as a child. I need materials with which to make things, whether it is sewing, mosaic, art, jewellery or any number of other bygone interests. However, once I have learned whatever it is I’ve needed to know from a passion, I’m often done with it. The trouble is–realising when that end has come, because very occasionally I do return to something for another burst of making. However, never have I felt the need to invade another’s space to assume control of their interests. But for a time, creative energies had slowed to a trickle. (One of the good things about learning from life as you age is that you can sometimes feel when the time is right for something, invasions being the exception, which seem to always be a wilful act of Ego.) I had a deep feeling reassuring me ‘once you have cleared the way, creative energies will return’. In fact when I was only about halfway there, I began to feel tiny bubbles of energy fizzing through my insides. I wonder, do tiny bubbles of energy surge through a certain Russian leader’s insides at the moment?

The flowers following the rain were beautiful…then came the flies, the weeds and the spiders.

I had another large clean out five years ago. How could there still be this much that needs to go? It is interesting when you start down this road how much you see once the process has been initiated. I shudder to think what other applications this practice might have… Back then, it was too soon to let go of some things, so I made the decision to hold on to them for a while. (And perhaps this has been true of Putin and his strong love of Russian culture, he just wasn’t ready to let go of control over it.) But most of the clutter, I just couldn’t see back then. Truthfully, hardly any of it has been acquired in the subsequent years after the first declutter. Most of it has been with me for years and years. And I now wonder if it has somehow been a comfort to me—a reassurance of a former life in another country, raising a child, being a different person—sort of? What would Putin do?? People from my parents’ generation had this idea that their children would value and want what they had to leave them. And certainly that is true in some cases, but mostly we have noticed that children seldom value the same material possessions as their parents. It certainly doesn’t seem as if many of the younger generation in Russia want whatever is to be gained by invading Ukraine.

Just as I began the declutter, this phrase came into my awareness…

‘Clutter is the result of not making decisions…and procrastination.’

It clarified my mental processes like a bolt, and slotted me squarely into the process. I had become weary, as are many millions of people living through the last couple of years. I realised I didn’t care about holding on to ‘stuff’ any more, except what I’m using or what truly enhances my life. It was pointed out to me, it takes energy to ‘hold on’. And so it does. Holding on to things takes a lot more effort than letting it go. Apparently in extreme cases, it also requires killing people and destroying their lives to recover what was no longer yours to hold on to.

We watch in wonder as the green carpet creeps up the ranges and skies offer special light and colour.

In a couple of months when the weather has cooled my friend and I will have one giant lawn sale. I’m lucky she is in the same place as me, both mentally and physically, and so together we have enough to supply the local lawn sale attendees with many bargains, a couple of times over! This is not about making money, it is about freeing energy which is at a very low ebb, and more valuable to me than a few dollars.

It was an interesting observation…as my purge and energy renewal continued, the rains and flooding subsided. After a few weeks the flow of groceries and goods, back to the Centre of the country and our town, began to return to normal. The macro and the micro happening simultaneously, as it sometimes does right in front of us…and has continued to do with recent eastern European invasions.

With the decluttering came a new mantra…

‘Get out of your head, and get into the moment…’

This is the typical process we introverts try to balance all the time. The culling decisions are all in my head but the results enable me to rearrange things, make them work better in the physical space. Things I hold on to are right there in sight so that I will readily see them next time I’m looking. I found that so helpful when I decluttered my wardrobe contents five years ago. I can pack a bag in about fifteen minutes now, though I laugh as I write this sentence since the world I desire to travel in is getting smaller by the week. I’m certainly glad our visit to Russia is in the Past.

Here are a few brief observations from the process that might help you:

  • Know your ‘why’ (do you want your domicile more orderly, easier to clean, or maybe you want more energy, or to take over a whole other country?)
  • Set an end date but give yourself plenty of time—as you uncover, you will find more places to conquer.
  • Do a little bit every day, whether cleaning one shelf or drawer, or gradually moving troops into place. In my case I set a time goal of an hour a day. Some days I did more and toward the end there was less to do, but I hardly missed a day.
  • Phone a friend. I have found it easier to have a friend to do these things with, or at least someone to consult, especially when the going gets tough and you feel a bit overwhelmed. It is always easier for someone else to think clearly and see your stuff without the accompanying emotional baggage. Friends in a bubble of delusion are perhaps not the best to consult, however.

Getting out of my head and transitioning to the practical moment is great, but I also appreciate that I now have more space in my head (so to speak) for creative thoughts, that are now threatening to be overwhelmed with more suffering in the world. To date, the new cupboard drawings (done by me) have been sent to the cabinet builder who has committed to installation in May. The carpet has been ordered and is committed to being installed in April. My purge is nearly finished, save the lawn sale…but I am truly shaken inside that other purges are not. I’ve located an electrician to install new lighting, and a tiler to replace the cupboard carpet with tiles. What could possibly go wrong from here?

fresh off the easel…MacDonnell Ranges

my summer of wintering…

17 Thursday Feb 2022

Posted by in Creativity, Life

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For many years I have tried to reframe my feelings of the months that I grew up experiencing as winter. I’ve heard other people who grew up in the northern hemisphere, but now live here in Australia, express similar feelings. We always feel out of step with Northern traditions that are seasonally based and from which we see iconic images based in the Northern seasons. After all, I spent 30 years having a cold Christmas, plus a few more reinfections on visits since then. After 38 years in some of the hottest places in Australia, my body and psyche still can’t quite connect the months with the weather and traditions. Or is that what is really going on?

I remember that first Christmas in sub-tropical Darwin, standing around a pool in 33C (91F) heat and 70% humidity, searching for a bit of shade and talking to people who were still strangers to me. And there was alcohol, lots and lots of it! We never even had a glass of wine for Christmas when I was growing up, so the whole thing just seemed wrong…sunburn, strangers and beer!

But Christmas and the idiosyncratic northern traditional decorations placed in the sunny, southern environment have been the least of my concerns over the decades since that first year. What I have repeatedly noticed is a desire to hibernate during these months. I get my chores done in the cooler part of the day and during the 100+F heated afternoons, I darken the shades and try to stay cool inside the house. Even better if I can nap…and read…and not do anything very energetic. And lately I find I don’t even want to eat very much, and certainly not cook!!

My most recent discovery as I nap and read, has been the book ‘Wintering: the power of rest and retreat in difficult times’ by Katherine May. It has been enlightening about what constitutes Winter and the traditions of wintering which are also restorative measures, some even suggestions you might get from a good friend. The author is not judgemental, and in fact is quite self deprecating, but generous in sharing what she has learned. 

The one thing she did not exactly address is for someone transplanted, in a completely different climate and place who cannot seem to transition to the local seasonal differences. Sometimes exotic plants can survive seemingly hostile environments, so why not me? At times I’ve wondered if I might have to surrender and leave this hot arid place. But each time we have a break and I come back to the place we have lived for 29 years, I’m so glad to be here that I put all thoughts of leaving to the back of my mind. Most recently as we flew back into Alice after Christmas in Adelaide, I looked out the airplane window at the heat haze and the half moon and recognised the beauty I now know as home.

Heat haze and half moon–flying into Alice

Just as I began writing about Wintering, another theory dovetailed into the mix of thoughts–this one from a podcast. Charlie Gilkey (The Good Life Project podcast) is an expert at coaching people. He says we all have ‘seasons’ of varying productivity levels. For him summer is his ‘stupefication season’.—meaning, low productivity, low focus, depressive even. It was a true revelation because it is the same for me, but I thought I was the only one. For years I’ve noticed all I want to do in summer is hibernate. I have been thinking it was something about longing for the winter I grew up with, but I now realise, it is more about where I am now. The intense heat depletes me. I have recognised that the decluttering project in which I’m currently engrossed, seems to fit perfectly into the energy level and mental attention I have for things right now. And that is what Charlie recommends too, fit your activities to your seasonal levels, however they work for you. It kind of makes sense on a very practical level–while I’m inside so much in the summer (perhaps you in the winter) to have an activity that requires me to be inside and that is imminently flexible. I can do a lot or a little and organise things any way I want them in any given day! Yay!

Gilkey further talked about people having circadian rhythms throughout the day, which I already knew about for the physical body, but they apply to the mental processes as well. We can benefit from recognising and planning around these on a daily practice. People like me who are ‘larks’ and have the most energy in the morning are best to do things that require focus between the hours of 7am and 1pm. I’ll have to work on that one. I should be doing my art work then, but I do all my other jobs then, which means the art I produce in the afternoons is probably wanting for better attention. Of course this isn’t always possible because Life gets in the way, but he also says you can account for that in whatever schedule you try to set up. I’m not so much into ‘schedules’ at this stage of life, but I am mindful of energy levels and patterns and try to work with them. You can allow for some mornings to be taken with other things, but in those afternoons when you may not be as sharp, you could ready your materials for the next morning session. He also suggests whenever your ‘stupefaction season’ is, to try and do less. In the six weeks or so since piecing May’s Wintering ideas together with Gilkey’s rhythms in life, I’ve felt more at ease and, strangely, been happier and more productive with the very selective goals I’ve identified.

Doing less and relaxing about it is my new approach for this time of year. If that isn’t ‘Wintering’ and practicing rest and retreat in troubling times, I don’t know what is. This is my new way of summering.

(Apologies to both May and Gilkey for overlaying their ideas, if this is offensive. It has been so helpful to me and I wanted to share…)

to see…

13 Wednesday Oct 2021

Posted by in Creativity, Health, poetry

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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...
mouse
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.

green and gold*…

01 Wednesday Sep 2021

Posted by in Australia, Creativity, nature

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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…

01 Sunday Aug 2021

Posted by in art, Creativity, Inspiration

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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.

Before, on the left, After, on the right. Notice my mini gallery on the pin board 🙂

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.

  • my quiet little reminder

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.

if I knew where I was going…

17 Saturday Apr 2021

Posted by in art, Creativity, Life

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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

take a minute…

21 Sunday Feb 2021

Posted by in art, Creativity

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I have been psyching myself up and out–for months, years even, trying to re-establish an art practice. I have gone the way of the parent who decided to stay at home and raise a child(ren) and then never went back to work outside the home. Having done freelance work from home for years I thought I would just naturally drift back into that once the child had left home. But the husband was used to someone to run the home while he traveled for work, and the child didn’t leave home until she was 23…and then there was breast cancer. The practice was well and truly buried. Deeply.

I drifted from dribs and drabs of painting, to jewellery making, to various crafts but I never developed a discipline. That was probably because I didn’t have to. But something in me really wanted to. It felt like I wasn’t finished yet. I’d gleaned all these amazing shapes and colours and textures from living life where I wanted to be and it felt like they were meant to live through me in another form.

In recent years I’d have a burst of creative energy or ideas once or twice a year but somehow I couldn’t convert it to a sustained practice that was taking me on the journey of discovery I wanted to have. What to do?

Not even the stay-at-home days of the pandemic had given me the push forward I needed. I searched and read and listened and scrolled to get inspired. While all of that was interesting, I had not yet figured out how to convert it to a practice.

One podcast inspired me to take an online course presented by an artist who came to her practice in her middle life. I enjoyed the course but when it was over once again I found myself with a few new skills and no practice, no direction.

The next time I was inspired by an online course, I was not even that successful. I followed the instructor’s lead, but realised it just wasn’t my thing. The next course I never even started. I loved the idea and his lessons were good but it just didn’t float my boat. Once again, it felt like I would be working in his style, rather than developing my own.

The holidays came and I was back to doing what I’ve become pretty good at, being a homemaker, wife and mother. I love all those things and don’t want to abandon them, but I want more. So when the holidays were over and I had caught up on rest, I was back to trying to get myself inspired. I thought what was lacking was inspiration so I followed more people on Instagram, watched YouTube, read inspiring stories and occasionally visited my drawing table with sporadic and unfulfilling results.

And then on January 14th came a TED talk. Even they had been falling a little flat for me in recent months. Everyone was trying to communicate their idea of something great. I didn’t want someone else’s ‘great’, I wanted my own. The TED recommendation came via email, and didn’t interest me. But I scrolled down the same page. An unassuming small talk by a woman I’d never heard of, piqued my curiosity. ‘The one minute secret to forming a new habit’…and it was only ten minutes long. I was in.

The talk was given by a novice video editor presenting from home, as per the covid-norm, and so it was a little annoying, but I kept telling myself, ten minutes is not that long unless you are having root canal work done, so hang in there. She stated her case for taking one minute out of every day to establish a new habit. Her new habit had been running. Her only stipulation? You have to be okay if you suck at it! C’mon, that is doable, right? I can suck with the best of them! That very day I began. I would take one minute and sit at my drawing table and doodle. To be honest, from day one, I took more than a minute. And I did suck most of the time. But I loved that sitting down, and embracing the suck-ness freed me up to keep coming back. It wasn’t about the quality of the work, it was about showing up.

Every day I sat down, and curiosity would take over. In seconds I was wondering what this colour or this mark would look like with that one and where it would all lead. And I reminded myself it didn’t matter if it sucked, I was just establishing the habit. Even the days when I didn’t feel like doing it, I sat down and did a little something.

  • You can see the numbers in the lower right corners of the early works. These denote which days into the one minute journey they were done. You can also see that my progress/result was not consistent. All of these pieces were done using markers and pen, another media combination I enjoy, and as you can see it produces a very different result.

After a few days my mood lightened. I felt happier within myself. Maybe it was just coincidence, I thought. After a week or so I noticed that I was having more creative moments throughout the day. I would look at something and immediately wonder what kind of drawing or painting that would make. I was taking more photos again, and not to post on Instagram, but as reference for potential drawings or paintings.

On day 10 I had taken a striking photo of the light at sunrise, of the houses and trees that we see from our place. That day I made the first pastel work that I have ever liked out of several attempts in years gone by. The next day I went back to sucking again.

Even though this piece was one of my very first it is still a favourite for the energy and simplicity of the image.

But the day after that, I still showed up for another minute…and another minute…and then more than a minute and then more than an hour! I couldn’t believe this simple change could make such a big difference so easily. Soon I found myself watching YouTube videos to learn how to use the soft pastels that are my new enthusiasm. Watching the videos was not included in my one minute session, that was in addition to the one minute, which by then, were almost never only one minute but stretched into half hours and more.

This was an early piece and I still didn’t have a grasp on how to layer the pastels, but I started learning rapidly.

I began to employ a little trick I used to use when painting more regularly. Years ago I’d noticed if I began a painting and had it, say, two thirds completed, enough to see where I was going with it, I would walk away from it for a day or two and then come back. It beckoned to me to come back and finish it, so it got me back into the studio again. This time, I found that I would not fret about how much time I had spent on an image, but I could leave it to return to later. As I walked in and out of the room, passed the table, I would glance at it and mull it over all the remainder of the day. Then, fresh with enthusiasm I would return and finish it next day. For many artists this doesn’t work. They find the mood is broken and they can’t get back into the flow of that work again. But in my case, it works. For me it’s important to self evaluate, not judge the work good or bad, but evaluate effective procedures and practices, study the colours and composition so I can modify things or use the time to advantage.

This was also a fairly early piece. I was just beginning to grasp how to work with the pastels.

For me, this little one minute change relegated my relentlessly judgemental self to a position that was much less inhibiting. It reduced the task to the smallest increment and allowed that to be crappy. I just had to show up. I’m good at showing up, just not very kind to myself about the results—or I wasn’t, until now! I will be writing more about my journey which is now beginning the sixth week. 

I have not missed a single day, but if I do, I will know how to begin again.

small things…

19 Thursday Nov 2020

Posted by in Creativity, Life

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I spent the morning in a brain fog that simply left me feeling zombie-like. It was just the tiredness that accompanies fibromyalgia but nonetheless, immobilising. At 9am I had a nap. It was a dreaming sleep that removed the fog, if not completely restoring my sense of self. Restful and adequate sleep has eluded me most of the last 20 years. Some days I can nap and compensate but others life demands more from me. 

None of my creative endeavours will flow when I am in deep, sleep deficit. Just over a week ago I received notice from WordPress that my subscription was due, so I renewed. And then wondered why? I sometimes go ages without the muse visiting me, or without being able to act upon it when she does, because my brain is so tired it simply doesn’t want to play.

But here I am clicking along on the keyboard after my dreamy nap, wanting to tell you that there is still magic in life. That is always my intention, though my writing skill may not always accomplish the goal.

We seem to have dodged another bullet…or two. Last week we were in Adelaide, primarily for me to have my yearly oncology check. As the years tick by and things remain clear I sometimes wonder if this is a waste of resources to keep checking. But it is part of the self-care we need to do for both mental and physical reasons, not just for ourselves but for those who love us. This year was particularly difficult to organise due to Covid restrictions and regulations, but we did it…a few months late, but we did it. The bright spot is that we always get to visit with our daughter who lives in Adelaide when we go for the appointment. And that is never a small thing. A parent loves to see with their own eyes that their child, who has been through a difficult time, is doing well.

We always enjoy our time in Adelaide, good food, coffee, a little shopping, a little nature, more coffee, and a change of scenery.

We tried a few new places for breakfast (top photos from ‘exchange’ bottom photos from Hey Jupiter, both in Ebenezer Place) , lots of deliciousness.

This time we also enjoyed new street art that has appeared and enlivens the place.

Adelaide has freshened her face with new murals of art.

After a couple of days in the city, I usually feel the need to get closer to nature. A botanic garden is seldom far way here. It was such a lovely morning spotting all kinds of native and wild flowers and plants, as well as some exotics. As we were leaving the Mt Lofty Botanic Garden something called me to look back, and up, the way you feel when someone across the room is staring your way. When I turned around there were eyes looking at me…from trees. Do you see them? Thinking I might be the first weirdo to have seen this, I photographed them. Turns out an Australian, artist Joshua Yeldham, observed the same thing in Aspen trees of Colorado. I have only today learned of the trees and his short film, called ‘Providence’. It was a tiny little gift to see this after having that recent experience. Had I not seen the eyes with my own, I might not have believed him when he spoke of feeling the woods looking at him. These marks are made when a limb falls off. What if the woods can see us, but by means we are yet to understand? Read The Hidden Life of Trees if you think I’m being silly. I would almost believe anything is possible after reading this.

Mt. Lofty Botanic Gardens in the Adelaide Hills
The eyes were upon us.

On Wednesday, November 11 we returned home. Four days later it was announced there was a new Covid outbreak in Adelaide, where previously there had been no community transmission since April. It has now been a week since our return and we appear to have once again had good juju on our side. Yesterday we have learned of the hard lockdown of Adelaide for six days, in an effort to create a ‘circuit breaker’ and keep the virus from becoming transmitted more widely. It was brought into Australia by a person traveling from the UK and the strain is a different one than we have previously had. It appears to infect people more easily and make them infectious to others more quickly. It began in a quarantine hotel, probably from a contaminated surface, and then transmitted to a large family group. Tracing practice is gold standard and they are on top of it, but things are changing daily, of course. With holidays nearly upon us…we wait…and hope. Our governments, both state and national have looked after us during this time. That is no small thing either.

Meanwhile, I have harvested my first cherry tomato. A very small pleasure, to be sure, but very enjoyable. The garden is demanding regular care and attention at the moment as our temps hit the 40’s (105F-111F) last week. The pests are out and have my juicy morsels in their sights! I have erected shade cloth and added more watering to my schedule. The promised rain did not reach us here in town, but 15 kilometres away at the airport, where the official gauges are, they measured 14mm. Who said nature was fair? We have had more dust and hot, dry winds. With the din of cicadas whirring at high pitch, The Apocalypse is seeming more possible.

Those three small falcons that hatched high atop a sky scraper in Melbourne six weeks ago, are no longer small. The day before we left for Adelaide they looked decidedly ugly, but on our return they had nearly finished with their downy feathers, looking as if they had put on fine suits to attend their launch into the world. The next day…they were gone. I miss them, but am so happy to have seen them grow and that all three survived is a testament to the miracle of nature.

November 5, and one week later they were gone.

There is always a small thing to be grateful for, whether it is the sleep of dreams, the miracle of nature or a small red orb that disappears in a single juicy mouthful, pungent with the warmth of summer sun and dispensing childhood memories.

Appreciating small things is no small thing.

just to be alive…

24 Saturday Oct 2020

Posted by in Alice Springs, Creativity, gardening, nature

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I love it when things in my life collide with one another—in a good way. I wrote a couple of months ago (hard to believe it’s been that long) about the garden I built and planted this winter. It continues to be a revelation in all kinds of unexpected ways.

I have learned that it is better, in most cases, to plant seeds in situ, rather than be tempted by the faster route of seedlings that are bobbing their little heads fetchingly from their tiny pots in the nursery and garden centres. Seeds sprouted in the exact place they will grow seem to understand they are at home and can grow accordingly. So, given enough water and some sunshine they get on with it. Whereas seedlings, sprouted and grown in their little pots thousands of kilometres away, in most cases, in hothouse conditions or entirely different places from where they finish up, are in shock when they end their journey in the middle of dry Central Australia. Even taking all care, I’ve watched them struggle and  eventually not yield very well and then go to seed quickly. Whereas the things I’ve planted from the right, well chosen seed, take a couple of weeks longer but kick on and look hearty and the yield is very good. Don’t we all do better when planted in the right place?

Lettuce, rocket, parsley, basil and chillies.

I’ve also learned I can plant less than I thought, now that I have a good growing base. We are about to drown in lettuce and rocket (arugula), for example! And don’t ask why I thought I needed 7 basil plants! Must be a throwback to the Italian genes. I’ve already put away one lot of pesto in the freezer and it’s not even summer yet. I dug up and gave away one of the basil plants because things were growing into one another. My lovely friend who does little paving and brick laying jobs was the happy recipient. I traded him for some pieces of old pavers on which we could sit our pots up out of the excess water that sometimes accumulates in the saucers.

In addition to the plant growth, it appears a potential family of Magpie Larks has moved into the palm tree that overlooks the new garden bed. They are not my favourite bird in appearance or sound, which is rather strident and irritating, but there is no bird who shows more joy having a bath in the residual water after rain. And I especially love the way they patrol the garden and eat insects! Whichever of the species builds the nest, I assume the female, decided this was a friendly place to raise her chicks. I keep a bowl of water for animals, there is soil around to build the mud base of the nest, and sugar cane mulch to fluff out the upper layer, ready for eggs and long spells of sitting. We also have a lot of native vegetation to attract birds, and no pets to bother them.

Can you see the white underside of the tail of the Lark? It is near the centre of the fronds. It has wrapped mud around the palm frond and is now adding a layer of sugar cane mulch to make it comfy.
As I tend the garden I can look up (carefully) and watch the Lark’s building progress.

A few days ago I was tending my garden and there was a noisy crow sitting atop that chimney on the neighbour’s roof, only about six or so feet from the Lark who was working on the last stages of the nest. Suddenly the crow, about four times the size of the Lark, lunged at it, hoping, no doubt, to eat eggs in the nest. The little Lark loudly called out, threw her little feet in the air, flapping wings wildly to fight off the crow, just as her mate flew up from very nearby to assist and save his lady love. The crow was chastened and left immediately. I fear he will return, however. It’s a bird eat bird world out there.

Today I have seen the Lark sitting on the nest as if there might be something worth sitting for. I hope so. Or maybe she was just testing it for the fluff factor. It has been National Bird Week here and I participated in a bird count every day this week. Wouldn’t it be nice to boost the count with some little hatchlings? A bit too soon I know, but a girl can dream.

I’ve been doing further chick checks on the Peregrin Falcons in Melbourne, and taking photos for those of you who don’t have time to check. There isn’t always much to see except sleeping chicks, and gathering debris. Ugh, it’s a very unhygienic looking area now. Today I was watching the three somewhat comatose chicks rearrange themselves when one in the back raised its bum and squirted poop in a very impressive arc all over the one in the front–still asleep. Siblings, eh? Feeding time is not appealing either, but very interesting. I was lucky to catch both parents there for one feeding session and snapped a screen shot for you. The female is the larger of the two and if I may anthropomorphise for a moment, looks quite unimpressed at her mate who is doing the feeding and perhaps sneaking a bite for himself? Imagine raising triplets! These two are really working hard at this parenting thing.

The female is the one in the back, looking unimpressed. The male wondering what he’s done wrong now?
Look at the size of those feet!

We have had rain. Not a lot, but enough to green the place a bit. We had 21mm a couple of weeks ago and another 6mm since. For those of you who regularly get rain this will seem like a drizzle, but here it is substantial enough to bring changes. Rain is magic for gardens and everything, in fact. It washes the leaves free of their red dust and everything looks crisp and clean again. And the smell of eucalyptus and whatever magic is in moistened desert dust is divine. The La Niña weather pattern is predicted to bring us more of the wet stuff over the coming few months and we are all feeling a bit greedy for it. We dusted off our rain gauges and send text messages…

Can someone please let us in, there’s a lot of wet stuff out here.

‘Did you get rain?’

‘Yes, we got 5mm, how about you?’

‘No, it missed us completely.’

And so on.

Good soaking rain for the garden.
It was quite a light show but no rain out of this lot until much later in the evening.

The cherry tomato vines are growing like stink, the fig tree has its first babies and they are growing daily, and my lovely Bay tree that is about 15 years old and has survived my benign neglect for most of those years, has hit its stride and joined the happily growing throng.

My treasured Bay tree with chartreuse new growth.
I haven’t bought a bay leaf in over 10 years!

And finally. Filling in the spaces of time between the many and varied activities of a domestic engineer/gardener/tech consultant/sporadic blogger, I’m trying to again find my mojo as a practicing artist. To take away the intimidation of a white canvas, I cut up a cardboard box, primed it and painted a loose little scene of my beloved Spinifex Pigeons and Finches from our recent trip to Kings Canyon.

Spinifex pigeons and Finches

There are plenty of unpleasant things going on around us too, but I choose to spend as much time as possible in the realm of nature, Rilke and Mary Oliver…

Invitation

Oh do you have time

to linger

for just a little while

out of your busy

and very important day

for the goldfinches

that have gathered

in a field of thistles

for a musical battle,

to see who can sing

the highest note,

or the lowest,

or the most expressive of mirth,

or the most tender?

Their strong, blunt beaks

drink the air

as they strive

melodiously

not for your sake,

and not for mine

and not for the sake of winning

but for sheer delight and gratitude-

believe us, they say,

it is a serious thing

just to be alive

on this fresh morning

in the broken world.

I beg of you,

do not walk by

without pausing

to attend to this

rather ridiculous performance.

It could mean something.

It could mean everything.

It could be what Rilke meant, when he wrote:

You must change your life.

—Mary Oliver

a pony tale…

09 Sunday Aug 2020

Posted by in Creativity, gardening

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Minutes ago I was up to my forearms in purple gloves, digging in cow manure for an earthworm. If that sounds oddly reminiscent to you, like the story of the optimist and the pessimist twins who were both given a roomful of shit for their birthday, you may be on to me. The pessimist child was sad and thought all she deserved was a roomful of shit. But the optimist sibling enthusiastically dived into the shit-filled room and declared ‘With all this shit, there must be a pony in here somewhere!’

photo from 2014, soon after which the cherry ripe plant in the back died and the herb garden began to rebel.

Last summer was a total disaster for my herb garden, and a new low point for my gardening skills in general. Admittedly, I’ve not embraced a lot of the maintenance and prep-work as I should have. Ours is a harsh climate and we were traveling more. And sometimes I’m just ridiculously hopeful. Given the chance this year to pursue my hermit tendencies has meant time to think…time to prepare, time to get my ass in gear and build a garden, albeit a small one to start with. And I have a secret weapon now that I have not always had…a gardening guru.

Here are her credentials:

Kilos of home grown tomatoes grown in the middle of winter in the desert. Need I say more? Thank you GG xx.

It all started back in April when we contracted our favourite paving genius, Scott, to pull up the old pavers in the courtyard and re-lay them, removing tree roots and other impediments to a level paving surface once again. I really didn’t need to break a hip by falling on the way to the clothesline. As we were clearing away the various piles of old pavers and bricks, left over from at least four other jobs, as well as various stacked pots, the garden beds were clearly revealed. They were in an unimpressive state of compressed soil, so poor it was hard to believe I’d been growing herbs in them for some 20 years!

Scott and his helpers came and performed their levelling magic. But something inside me was niggling…level pavers was just not enough. Those garden beds were a wasted opportunity. My large kitchen window looks out over the courtyard, which, in summer when the spa is uncovered is pleasant enough, but the other 8 months of the year it is pretty ordinary. I’d managed to grow enough herbs over the years to sustain my culinary activities, but even that had dwindled to a paltry half dead mint plant and a lonely dwarfed parsley that wanted to survive, but needed intervention.

I’m always in awe of the creativity the human brain can conjure when allowed to ramble freely. Mine began to conceive of a built up herb garden, with completely fresh growing medium and something that added beauty to the area. My good friend who I call my ‘Gardening Guru’ (GG) told me of a growing medium she had stumbled upon a couple of years ago. Manure. Surprisingly, she said that she used PURE, dried out and decomposed cow manure. Knowing she grows the most amazing vegetables every year (see above photo), my ears pricked up. Could this be my transitioning agent, from lacklustre gardener to Miss Confident Gardner 2020? God knows 2020 needs to have been a good year for something!

Like a storm in my brain, the creative waves began to gather. I measured the space of my old herb garden and calculated if I dug down about 150mm, and built a retaining wall around the area, adding about 200mm height from ground level I would have a deep enough bed to put in gravel for drainage, and 3/4 cubic metre of cow poo as my growing medium. It would be deep enough to accommodate the root systems of herbs and some small veggies, like lettuce and rocket (arugula), should I feel more adventurous. Then, came the really creative part. Could I take five different sizes and colours of bricks, blocks and pavers, in varying quantities, left over from four different jobs and build one good looking garden surround?

Transplanted parsley after about six weeks.

First things first…transplant to a pot the poor little parsley plant that had survived the summer remaining almost the same size as when I planted it, six months previously. That done, in May I began digging out the 150mm of hard, packed old garden bed. It was just awful soil, full of rocks and very poor, compacted soil. What was I thinking? Knowing my 67 year old back is not used to hard labour, and that I also did not want to agitate fibromyalgia symptoms, I went about the project very slowly and carefully, digging with a pick and shovel a bucket of dirt at a time. I would carry the bucket of dirt to areas of the garden that just needed fill, but in which we didn’t want to grow anything. Engage abdominals, fill bucket, lift with my legs and lug the bucket of crappy soil from the courtyard to the receiving area. I could only do about six or eight buckets in one session. It was hard going.

After ten days or so the base soil was removed. Next I bought gravel to put in the bottom, for drainage. Then it was time to play with my blocks. I lost count of how many different patterns I considered but eventually I reasoned that the back of the bed could use the least attractive and even broken pieces because it would nearly all be covered by soil eventually. I began placing the best blocks and bricks into symmetrical patterns at the front, and things began to fall into place. After I laid the firm base using leftover driveway pavers, I could start at the front of the area, using the best bricks to make sure it looked attractive. Of course levels had to be maintained evenly so that once it was filled with the manure, it would look even and be easy to work around. Again, this phase had to be done in a number of sessions because… bricks. are. heavy. And they had to come from three different areas around the garden, where we had neatly stacked them. Fortunately, our little red hand-truck, gifted to my husband many years ago, was my valuable friend. (Thank you Chappie)

Top Left: hand truck (ponytail palm being repotted, but not for the herb garden), top middle: behind the herb garden being renewed with remaining manure, top right: half dead mint only weeks after dividing and repotting.

Purple gloves have been my gardening friends for years. They are sturdy and impervious and I know where my fingers are at all times. After months of serious hand washing and sanitising, the hands didn’t need any more wear and tear. Gradually the edge took shape. When I had finished, I had only ONE piece of a paver left. Every single other spare brick and paver had been used. No one was more amazed than me. In fact, I’m sure NO one will be amazed at all! When you look at the bed, it just looks like ‘oh, yeah, that looks normal.’ End of story. I hasten to add, I was not using cement to hold it all together, that would have been one skill too far for me, I think. But Scott had said he didn’t think I would need it, and so far it appears he was right.

  • I can always see where my hands are in these!
  • The toe of my boot and one of many large clumps.
Left is the pile of manure, middle is the base in the bed and the beginning of added manure, right is when I decided to add the larger clumps at the bottom so they would have time to break down.

Next I needed the cow manure to fill the remainder of the bed. Problem. The manure that was delivered had large chunks of very hard, decomposed material. GG told me it would be fine, just water down once it was in place and then use the spade or garden fork to break it up. Sounds much easier than it is, believe me. She said hers had been well broken down when she got it, but mine was still quite lumpy. She guessed that it was probably a local source and given our very dry couple of years, there had probably not been enough moisture to foster dung beetles who would have aided in breaking it down. The earth’s ecosystem at work, or not, in my case. Once again, my trusty bucket and I began shovelling shit and carrying it. This time it was actual shit. I carried from the pile on the edge of the yard, back to the courtyard and into the hole. Engage abdominals, shovel carefully, lift with your legs and carry to destination. Eight buckets a session. Every few days I would water it down and let the moisture soak the clumps then break it up with the gardening fork or the spade. And every couple of days I gave my body a rest day.

Somewhere during this stage of things I realised my fitness was improving. I began to look around toward continuing the activity once the herb garden was established. I finished up with some extra manure, so I decided to dig up the other small areas and incorporate the remaining manure into them. I could feel my courtyard beginning to love me back. After previous success with water rooted basil cuttings, I began to make cuttings of some succulents I had bought last summer but not known how to care for properly. What was left were some wilted branches, which I snapped off and put into water. Presto, I now have 10 perky cuttings all with roots, six of which are planted into pots for future transplanting. Then I took my mostly dead, wholly root-bound mint and divided it into three clumps (mint will survive almost anything, even me) and planted those into pots of fresh potting mix. They have bounced back like curls in a hair commercial. Totally giddy with success, I gratefully accepted my next door neighbour’s offer of seeds from her very interesting looking basil that has purple tips on green leaves. I scattered them into pots of fresh mix and I have lots of tiny green leaves poking their heads up.

Other smaller garden beds after their makeover but before planting. My ‘nursery’ is growing in the foreground.
The plant on the wire frame behind the garden is a newly acquired lime tree that is specially adapted to growing in a pot. We are attempting to espalier it so that its arms grow along the frame. The large pot is the transplanted parsley, the pots either side are the results of the mint being divided and nourished. The small orange pot and the black one beside it hold tiny cotyledons of basil plants grown from my neighbour’s seeds. The lush growing medium is the once doubtful looking, lumpy cow manure, ready for planting.

We are still a couple of weeks away from planting seedlings, due to frost risk, but I am hopeful. The nursery of seedlings grows, the growing medium becomes more lush by the day, and my soul has been gently lifted by the effort and achievement. GG and I realise, we are at our best when maintaining our positivity (see others who find solace in nature here and here )

So, what does digging around my garden wearing purple gloves, looking for a particular earthworm have to do with this story?

As I was preparing the last little space of garden bed to receive its share of the cow poo makeover, I moved the rescued, and completely transformed, pot of parsley from the bed, up out of the way of the digging. As I did so, there was a lovely fat earthworm enjoying the moisture. Not wanting to cut him in half with my spade, I carefully picked him up and placed him in the new bed. After consulting GG as to whether I’d done the right thing, she suggested he might like a more moist area. So I donned the purple gloves and raced back outside to retrieve him and place him elsewhere that is consistently moist. But I was too late. He had already made himself at home and disappeared into the moist manure, hopefully to enjoy many years of happy digging. In fact, maybe that will make two of us. Nature shows us in myriad small ways how to dig around and be grateful and move forward. I’m always looking for my pony.

Yours truly,

A Hopeful Gardener

(future updates to come…)