I have no idea if the French Consulate will approve my long-stay visa, apart from an inkling that the rendezvous was positive. In a reckless sort of way, I’ve been preparing to leave anyway. At least for three months. If my application pleases the administration I’m off for a year, with the option to renew. Holy shit! there’s a mountain of ends to tie off.
Being a visual artist is heart-poundingly beautiful. I spend my days soaking up images then pouring my passion onto canvas, computers and sketchbooks. I get to run around in the forest, chase clouds down the coast and occasionally throw my clothes to the wind. But there are some drawbacks. Stuff. The walls are disappearing behind mountains of artwork. Fortunately my housemates are tolerant.
I was dreaming up possibilities for art shows when there was a loud knock at the door. I assumed it was another parcel for New Housemate but the floppy plastic envelope looked oddly familiar. It was only a week since my interview in Sydney and I expected to wait two months. Was this a quick refusal or the long-awaited ticket to Europe? I opened it up… and I haven’t stopped smiling!
PS I really do need to move my paintings. Stay tuned.
I committed to Winter this year. It’s a marriage of convenience, considering my heart is elsewhere. Like any relationship, it has a few problems. The iced windscreen at 7pm was rather unsettling. I tried to turn on the defroster but received a cold shoulder. I think we need counseling because it’s going to snow.
Original Photo: Eva Culek
Photo Art: Jeni McMillan
We rest close enough for shadows to mingle,
Our leaf breaths exhaled as one,
Tiny filaments beneath the earth entwined,
Our bodies deeply rooted in connectedness.
I’m drunk on possibilities. You know, one of those moments when you want to say I love you guys, to the ex who I truly loved, the friends who I love present tense and the people who I will love in the future. Life is so fucking conjugated. And yet so simple.
Sometimes there’s just magic. Nothing easily explained, yet so easily understood. It begins like a tiny drop of water tumbling earthwards, touching leaves, fronds, petals. Sliding with consummate grace down blades of grass to ground with a sigh. Over time the water table fills. Each space between now plump with possibilities. A bone-dry drought broken. Birds flock from distant lands and rest on the surface. Thus, the Sun God returns and the Goddess awakens.
The fork twisted. It was clearly bored with itself and needed to create a bit of drama. The wall stared the other way. It was certain that no going back would set things straight.
It’s the spaces between,
Advised the tree.
You have to know what you are looking at.
The blue-eyed sky
Held her head high, stayed mute.
It’s the beyond,
Called the sea,
Freedom is not an illusion.
It’s ebb and flow.
She turned from the mountain,
The city glittered below.
Don’t be long, whispered Nature,
You know seasons change.
It’s the spaces within,
Bark prodded her back,
You have to know what you’re looking at.