These are not pretty photos.
Though I also don’t think that they are horrible photos either. I went for a walk this morning and took some photos. I was fascinated by this piece of roadkill. This was a wallaby. Now it is a series of photos.
Peering into the darkness
The images of the oiled birds weigh heavily on my spirit.
The ancient trees cry out to my soul as they are cut down.
Once the ocean is dead what will become of us?
I am hurtling towards the last of my year of firsts and I miss my mother desperately.
I can feel the weight of depression heavy in my chest, a hard lump underneath my breastbone and I can taste its sour flavour at the back of my throat. I can feel it clutching at me at the edges of my mind.
As the heaviness threatens to drag me down, I could easily leap into the darkness and stay there submerged in my own sorrow but I don’t have the time to linger on self absorption, I have wasted enough time already.
A cup was stuck in the mould and I ripped it in my impatience. As I smoothed the jagged edges and altered its shape I became lost in the moment and a series has been born.
I will be exhibiting in the Tasmanian Ceramics Association’s annual exhibition in August, the theme of the exhibition is the seven deadly sins. I cant decide between greed, pride or sloth as my sin of choice, either way this cup and its resemblance to a jagged tree stump will be my interpretation of the brief.
Our sloth, our laziness, our apathy in the face of a world on the brink of catastrophe. Our pride, our vanity, our overriding arrogance that we can control nature and bend to the earth to our will is uppermost in my mind. The essence of our destuctive human natures will be represented in these forms.
They wont be blue like the picture above as I need something harsher than that to get the idea out of my head. Blood and ashes, graffiti and despair. There wont be any hope in these pieces at all, as they will contain my anger but maybe it is better to have my anger contained in these vessels. We will see.
Thinking in public.
Yesterday was my last class with Dr Christl Berg. I cant remember the exact title of the class but in a nutshell Christl’s class was all about developing ourselves as artists as well as learning to look at art critically. It was a valuable experience as we had lots of presentations from established artists describing their own art practices.
Our last presentation yesterday was from visual artist, Glen Dunn and I had a lightbulb moment during his presentation when Glen said,”That in essence, artists are thinking in public.” I realised that is what I am doing, I am thinking in public, I am having a public conversation with you. I know it looks glaringly obvious but I hadnt actually thought about it that way before. A couple of pieces of the puzzle clicked loudly into place yesterday and my mind is buzzing.
My proposal for the sculpture trail has been accepted by the friends of Chauncy Vale committee and I am really excited and terrified at the same time. Now I have to do more than actually think about making the eggs, I have to produce them. Eeek.
Just to add more excitement and terror to the mix, yesterday Glen also suggested that I should film the whole process. I was going to photo document everything anyway but making a short film has captured my imagination. I have absolutely no idea how I am going to go about it at all but the thought of making a film is really exciting.
Now back to the idea of thinking in public. I hadn’t really thought much about the oil spill in the gulf of Mexico other than general, “gosh that’s awful” type of thoughts until I followed a link on twitter to the Boston.com’s Big Picture, News stories in photographs and the images truly brought home to me the devastating impact of this massive environmental disaster.
The dragon eggs are a very public thought. The dead albatross bowls are very public thoughts. And now I want to make a couple of oily dragonfly plates. This dragonfly is trying to clean itself while it is perched on an oil soaked blade of grass. I cant get the idea out of my head that to the executives of companies like BP and Monsanto we are as worthless to them as insects.That the destruction of our environments dont matter as long as they get their fat paychecks and the shareholders get theirs.
How can BP compensate the world for the loss of a dragonfly? How much is a dragonfly worth?
Painting.
Last week I went to a bulk supply place and stocked up on paint. Somehow my grand daughter got wind of the fact that Nanny had new paint. Lots of new paint.
After we had sampled all the paint and sort of cleaned up a bit, it was time to get the shells out and listen to the sea.
Another Artist’s statement.
I have to write another Artist’s statement for a catalogue that some graphic design students are doing as a project. So my lovelies I am going to write it here and I would like your feedback. This particular artist’s statement is going to be in a catalogue with some photos of my shells which are part of the Boganvillainy installation.
I am a ceramic artist, writer, photographer and dreamer. I live in rural Tasmania, my home is surrounded by tall eucalypts and fragrant silver wattles. Wallabies eat my grass and possums raid my garden. Wedge tailed eagles soar overhead and Tasmanian devils squabble in the gullies of a night time.
As I stand outside enjoying the autumn sunlight I hear distant voices which are quickly followed by the harsh roar of a chainsaw. The crashing fall of an ancient tree destroys the silence.
This is Tasmania and I am Tasmanian.
I watch as ancient forests are destroyed and turned into woodchips. I watch as the people that protest this destruction are vilified and their reputations attacked. I watch as the young people that venture into the forests to protest against this destruction are attacked and despised
I watch and I despair.
In order to control that despair, I make. I pour that emotional energy into the clay and see where my anguish leads me.
I am a ceramic artist and when my hands are filled with clay, I am able for a short time to forget my despair and shame, that I am a silent witness to the destruction of Tasmania’s spiritual heart.
The thought of ancient forests being turned into woodchips chills me to the core of my being. What madness is this, that we have become so anaesthetised in our lives that we squander so lightly our grandchildren’s legacy?
In this beautiful island state of Tasmania so many gifts of nature are taken for granted. Native animals lie dead on the side of the road, victims of our haste. Ancient forests are turned into paper, waterways are poisoned, beauty is destroyed. All victims of our greed.
If I allow myself to think too deeply about our poisoned waterways and smoking forests, I will be paralyzed with grief. As my tears mix with the clay and the forms come to life before me, the despair loosens its grip on my soul and I allow myself to hope
The shells that are featured here were made in direct response to the proposed Gunns pulp mill. The shells are slip cast stoneware. Three shells are featured here, one pristine, one altered and one destroyed. We are attracted to beauty and once we hold that beauty in our hands we need to change that beauty to fit our own needs and ultimately we destroy that which first attracted us.
So that is what I have sent off.
