Growing a life of art and gentle anarchy, Narrative: Shamanic story, poetry, music, and visual art in all shapes, forms and ways. Art as everyday domestic based healing and the nuture of beauty.

spirituality

late night washing machine

late night poetryWashing machine

Vibrations

Possum thunder

Across the roof

down

the plum tree

chicken roosting

behind wire and gate

on eggs

ghost fox across the suburban streets

snoring

child

and piles of books on the table

i am wondering what you think at night?

fridge hum frogs croak

rain

On

the colour-bond.

(for Simon Leo)

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The reinvention of work

I have been reading the reinvention of work by mattew fox (1994). He offers a vision of work that seeks to move from an increasingly destructive industrialist worldview/paradigm into a spirited ecological one. He advocates inner transformation of consciousness via ritual, communal and personal. The inner transformation is the place where the outer life of work and culture begins. He suggests that artists work to bring transformative ritual into their local communities. He calls this,”participatory art”, that, “unleashes energy” and works to “heal dualisms”. So i am beginning to look for this side of the arts more and more so please help and guide me to deeper understanding.

under protest (detail).

The Australian writer ValPlumwood also believes that the nature culture split can be changed by the strategies found in Ecological writing and theory. Plumwood believes in giving voice to the more than human as a way of re-spiriting dead matter. In her poetic essay journey to the heart of stone, Plumwood talks about how writers can challenge, “The experiential framework of dead silent matter entrenched by the sado-disspassionate rationality of scientific reductionism” (Plumwood in Beckett & Gifford 2007, p18). The way to do this is to recover an understanding of matter as spirited. She calls for a project that encourages us to, “to think beyond these boundaries, to re-invest with speech, agency and meaning the silenced ones, including the earth and its very stones, cast as the most lifeless members of the earth community” (Plumwood in Beckett & Gifford 2007, p22). The writer can re-spirit matter by work that gives voice to the non-human. By doing this the writer can not only help open up space for the world to talk to human communities, but also they can help the human communities learn how to listen. This is a way of healing a wounded space. IMG_5439

 

under protest

What we saw of the bats

Woke early and kissed you goodbye to lay in bed bleeding menstrual blood and rest your cramping belly

hand in hand with our little girl with plastic pony filled unicorn shape bag

going to the city to see fruit bats by the harbour hanging from trees

past Lidcombe on the train saw blood on the tracks behind blue tape police line and fireman with hose young man with mad eyes cross legs on the platform

made water colour pictures with our daughter on top of magazine collage of handsome ruff hair’d face man with wedding dress model legs and pet pig

went all the way to circular key and leaning off the rails watched jelly fish floating amongst rubbish and huge northern coast turpentine tree ferry pylon structures

noticed rippled shadow of cruise ship big as city buildings

past opera house peaks remember’d sumo wrestling in latex costume with beautiful American girl and photo of a new friend in Spencer tunic naked pile of people

watched seagulls catch imperceptible things amongst the sea weeds

went round to fenced off fig tree giant sculpted rock wave cascade and Gadigal woven stone shield big as a house

moved here by new Zealand artist tip truck and Gosford bulldozer quarry place

heard the laughter of children at wedding party by the pond with eel brushing the surface reflecting black bamboo.

all we saw of the bats was a picture board explaining their eviction by noise wires in list reason’d slope of text laminate

stood there quiet remembering cracking the eggs the broody hen at home had abandoned to find one fine feathered duckling wrapped in translucent sack

blood in the shell on my gloves in the wheel barrow and in the compost bin

remembered emptying the rubbish this morning and seeing a condom full of  my ejaculation cover’d in land filled destinies

follow’d tight jean tourists along wave shaped sign wall invasion narrative history ending at a bunch of green bananas hanging covered in bees

a pencil drawing of Bennelong behind us and a plaque description of 1700’s European taste for the sweet and the novel

round spiked cactus at the lion guarded gates the harbour sparkling and jacaranda blossums in the distance

sound of freeway beneath

picked flowers and went to look up at mammoth bronze sculpt’d war horse Sydney basin sandstone plinth

our three year old girl with unknown native flower’d hair ornaments raided from botanic garden plant museum

into the gallery up smooth steps glittering with coastal sand specks to exchange our bags for a white number’d black bit of wood

somewhere in here we can find lin onus hills hoist pattern’d with dots and hanging wooden bats or have they been evicted too?

up and down escalators thru collections of two dimensional wall hanging paintings

Del barton erect nipple’d nature women naked with birds and five breasts in a landscape of blue named dots

told at the information desk of dismantled clothesline bats

instead

Went to see thousand year old ceramic horses from china painted earth colours on spotless white platform behind glass window with legs flying up and warrior polo playing woman fist clenched

Decided to leave and walked out into the arvo sun

Over pedestrian crossing wedding procession cars stopped to let us cross white ribbons flapping and latter almost got run down by another satin sparkling wedding dressed bride

The cameras flashing in the old sydney hospital courtyard past the fountain edge to wild bronze tusked pig

Caught the train back up the mountain

Out the window deep sandstone cliff face gorge and creek glowing orange from western sun

Handprints ancient in the cave overhangs

Looking at the blue mountain horizon a haze of bushfire smoke and full moon rising behind us in the east.

+Sydney mid spring 2012


Aside

earth cOlours


Re-spiriting matter/more than human

In the green studies reader, the Ecocritical theorist, Lawrence Buell defines Ecocriticism through what he calls the, “environmental imagination” (Buell, L 2000, p1). According to Buell, It is the ‘environmental imagination’ that attempts to understand potential environmental crisis. It is also the ‘environmental imagination’ that seeks strategies within culture to stop environmental destruction taking place. Buell writes, “Environmental crisis is not merely one of economic resources, public health and political gridlock” (Buell, L 2000, p1).  He is suggesting that approaches to environmental crisis are not limited to the most obvious arenas, that there are other ways that this perceived crisis is being approached. The ‘environmental imagination’ is one such way. He goes on to write, “The success of environmentalist efforts finally hinges not on some highly developed technology or arcane new science, but on a state of mind: on attitudes, feelings, images, narratives” (Buell, L 2000, p1). The ‘environmental imagination’ does this by inspiring change in the way people understand nature. It works to create culture that values the environment with care and responsible connection. Buell suggests a number of approaches that Ecocriticism uses to achieve these aims under the umbrella term of the ‘environmental imagination’. These include art forms which: Seek reconnection with place, a re-visioning of the future to be a place of cultural sensitivity and ecological care, and connection with the experience of other people and non-human nature.

Deer were introduced into the royal national park area early in the English colony for the sport of hunting. Later after the area became national park the deer had survived and thrived. Environmental concerns decided that the animals were damaging the local ecosystem and hunters were given licence to remove the deer from the park.

HUNTED

Sleeping
on the beach

beneath ocean size storm
clouds

a herd of deer.

Headlights of a car
coming down
the
hillside

The red spotted Angophoras
twisted

by

the coastal sandstone
and wind.

The deer sleep
on
a hill of sand
bone
and the campfire
shells
of
molluscs

-Little Era Beach

 

KURADJI

Wind Swept
dunes

cockatoo screech
over the dozers
and
road grader

fire and smoke
Skeleton found by brothers
rested 5000 years
or more
being torn poured with bitumen
still singing people
together.

-Sandon Point

The Australian writer Val Plumwood believes that the nature/culture split can be changed by Ecocritical writing. Plumwood suggests giving voice to the more than human as a way of re-spiriting dead matter. In his poetic essay journey to the heart of stone, Plumwood discusses how writers can challenge, “The experiential framework of dead silent matter entrenched by the sado-disspassionate rationality of scientific reductionism” (Plumwood in Beckett & Gifford 2007, p18). The way to do this suggests Plumwood is to recover an understanding of matter as spirited. He calls for a project that encourages us to, “to think beyond these boundaries, to re-invest with speech, agency and meaning the silenced ones, including the earth and its very stones, cast as the most lifeless members of the earth community” (Plumwood in Beckett & Gifford 2007, p22). The writer can re-spirit matter by work that gives voice to the non-human. By doing this the writer can not only help open up space for the world to talk to human communities, but also they can help the human communities learn how to listen. This is a way of healing a wounded space.

Road-kill

We meet
dressed
in fur
our own
and road kill.

clean and eaten.

The forest canopy
is
skeletal
remains
under our feet,

covered in mud
covered in earth.

I am smoked
by campfire,

dreads full of seashells,

we are returning
to
cook lentil stew
in our kitchen:

coming home
to
sleep -dance our reunion.

-Dundurrabin/Nymboida


Home songs

“Many people do not quite have their own song and dance. Current music is too much a commodity, too much in flux, it cannot dye us. We are not quite sure what our home music is.” Gary Snyder, The Practice of the wild, p24.

Being part of a colonising race, (pure Ozzy mongrel), has given me a legacy of confusion. My own traditional song has been lost. This personal/family/land displacement has come at the cost of indigenous homelands, massacre, theft, the stolen generation. It’s a two-way destruction. I am stuck with the spiritually redundant capatlyst/industrialist culture.

Recently i heard the Australian activist john seed interviewed on the radio. He believes that he is part of an older ancestry, a joint ancestry. The Cenozoic era is our common heritage that we share with the earth as a whole living being. He asks the question, should we throw away that heritage away just so we can buy a new TV or microwave?

These issues are really central to my art.


Art becomes a way of deep enjoyment for the spirit, this is its healing aspect. Don’t need a new TV because we stay up late playing music, songs we write or our friends write, drinking fresh herbal tea from the garden: paintings are dynamic teaching narratives that transform us as we wash dishes, rinse the sprouts, knead the bread…

By its very self-sufficient nature: art making is a form of activism because it feeds the spirit: fulfills that deep human need to sing and dance, to communicate with the whole body: to touch in relationship the tender places.

In 1910, the African-American boxer Jack Johnson knocked out his white opponent Tommy Burns in one round. The boxing match took place in Rushcutters bay on a make shift ring in front of thousands of white Australians: Captain cook discovered Australia! (he didn’t notice that land was already occupied by a cultured people).  In the 1790’s Pemulwuy lead the Eora, Tharawal and Darug people in a resistance campaign that almost got rid of the English colony.

So here we are, trying to make a home, trying to belong: trying to find a home song and dance.


Toxic culture/Earth written

The work Toxic Culture, describes the death of my father. It is also questioning the use of a commercial acrylic medium, positioning it as an inherently sick media. In the words of Suzi Gablik, “Modern individuals do not see the earth as a source of spiritual renewal, they see it as a stock pile of raw materials to be exploited and consumed.” (Gablik, S. 1991, p77) In this work I am suggesting that acrylic paint media reinforces a toxic culture and an exploitation of the earth. Art critic Robert Hughes has pointed out “What strip mining is to the earth, the art market has become to culture” (Hughes, R in Gablik. 1991, p146) Working with this media reinforces a capitalist colonisation of the imagination and art making.

In this painting, the cycle of death is represented by the flesh coloured figure standing on a road that leads to the figure of death coming from out of the hillside. It is important to note that they are also linked by the cigarette that they both share, and this completes the circle that links the dead with the living. The crown symbolises the father and the fall of the father. This can also be read as they demise of a patriarchal society and suggests that the figure that is alive is taking that cigarette not to smoke, but to stub out and reject.

I have deep emotional connections with  my children, I fear their pain in the context of a sick culture and hope to hold space for them in the world. To find a father/patriarchal figure that nurtures a sense of belonging to a sacred earth and a culture that treats it so.  The Austrian painter Hundertvasser, who also worked with some found pigments, has said that all he wanted to do was, “liberate himself from the universal bluff of civilisation.” (Restany, P. 2001, p?.) Working with found natural materials, pigments and some post consumer waste helps me to counter the arrogance and cynicism of our culture. It also helps me to liberate my imagination and to activly re-imagine, through cultural embodiment, healthy networks of sacred connection.

These paintings were made in collaboration with Ember Peace my 1 and a half year old daughter.

“Love is the reality, poetry is the drum that calls us to that!”

+Rumi