sculpture at dawn

The alarm went at 4.45am this morning and it signalled our early morning adventure. Sydney hosts an annual open air sculpture exhibition along a popular coastal walk. Today we were going to photograph the outdoor art at dawn.

Other photographers, joggers and early risers were also on site but it was nothing like the wall to wall people who attend during normal sociable hours. It was so special to be able to take our time to enjoy each piece and use the morning light to capture our favourite shapes. Back home at the computer it is the silhouettes that have caught my eye.

"Sea nest" Oct 2012

Detail of "Mengenang" Oct 2012

Detail of "Mirador" Oct 2012

"Transition" Oct 2012

Monday Haiku

Haiku - 3 lines, 17 syllables (5,7,5)

Black cloud all around
Dark mood swirl envelops all

Hormonal witching

 

Seeking peace Oct 2012

Inspired by the theme of witch at

Solitude and connection

Solo walk Oct 2012

I am yearning for space and solitude. Yet this week has given me anything but.
I am an introvert. Someone once explained that the difference between an introvert and an extrovert is where they get their energy. For me, I recharge my batteries, get my best ideas and untangle my knots of emotional complications, quietly, mostly alone, inside my head.

I have read that solitude is the best gift that a creative can give themselves.

In the last week, I have been submersed in people; lots of lovely energised and beautiful people. On the weekend, I spent the time with my oldest friends; the four of us became close friends in boarding school over 40 years ago. Four women living in different towns, living different lives and joined by love and a history of connection.

Then when I returned, my cousin and her husband arrived from England to stay. We have known each other over 50 years. Distance and time compresses when we see each other again.

So there it was, in one week, my only opportunity for solitude was during two four and a half hour drives in the country. Both times, it was just me and my thoughts and so much bubbled to the surface. Ideas dying to blossom.

Strangely, in my world of introversion, the idea I keep bumping into in my quest for creativity is the importance of connection.

When I was about 19, I had an idea that I wanted to write a book of stories about the beautiful connections that I had had with different people. I found "the proposal" with a list of names and possible stories the other day. The book was to be about that moment when you feel you have made an intense contact with another. It was to be a collection of stories about people interacting and feeling connected. Connection and the mystery of how it happens, is still a source of wonderment to me.

In May, this year we were in Zagreb, Croatia. Walking down the street, we saw a sign to "The Museum of Broken Relationships". As Croatia had experienced civil war in the early 90s we assumed that this was a poor translation of a title for a war museum. Imagine our surprise when we found that it was a museum where people submitted items with stories about the pain, grief and disappointment of losing someone they love: there were photos, letters and significant objects, all with stories; from people jilted at the altar, from children separated in refugee camp, from those experiencing the loss of parents and lovers through illness and death.

I am filled with wonder and happiness when I experience strong connection yet it is at times of disconnection, loss and grief that we appreciate what we once had. So much to write about, so much to explore.

So it seems, 

• I need solitude so that I can allow my inspiration to emerge and yet
• I crave connection where my vulnerability and fearfulness can be held and
• I feel so out-of-kilter when I am consumed by my sense of disconnection.

A walk in the sun Oct 2012

Monday Haiku

Haiku - 3 lines, 17 syllables (5,7,5)

Inspired by the theme at

 

This week's theme is Conscious

 

 

Cool air whisper light

Stirring from sweet slumber haze
Mind slowly unfurls



 

Colouring with nature's beauty

A few years ago I was introduced to eco-dyeing by my friend Deb Clarke on one of her art making adventures in the remote areas around Alice Springs, Northern Territory. There camping in swags on ancient lands with Larapinta Creative Camps, by day we would roam the local bush in search of suitable plants to use for fabric dyeing on the campfire at night.

Now back home, I have collected local leaves and flowers and created my dyeing practice on a small gas burner on my back deck.

Recently on a visit to a friend's farm, I collected a huge bag of pods from the Cootamundra Wattle tree. My test on these pods produced a gorgeous purple pink colour. Purple being my absolute favourite colour, I was excited about the potential.

Seed pods of the Cootamundra Wattle Oct 2012

 

Alas, I waited too long (2 weeks) and the pods have aged and lost their colour. However, I decided to try dyeing with them, in case the colour was forthcoming. I also tried a number of new folding techniques to get patterns as well as layered leaves to give imprinted effects. The scarves are silk and they take to eco-dyeing very well. I am off to the country again this weekend so I will be on the lookout for some fresh wattle pods! This time, I will try freezing them to preserve the colour. This is how you preserve flower petal colour for dyeing. I'll keep you posted.

 

Silk Scarves dyed using the wattle pods Oct 2012

 

 

 

It is time to talk about my leg

Last week, I went to see my vein specialist and, again, I feel emotional and out of kilter. I need to ask myself what is going on here.

But first I need to tell you a story..

In April, this year, my husband and I flew to Europe for a 3 month trip of a lifetime. We had carefully planned a journey from Turkey through Croatia and Greece to Spain and Morocco with detours to Paris, London, New York and San Fransisco. It was a wonderful mix of visiting the places that we had talked about, dreamed about and hoped to experience for years.

Two weeks before we left, my husband developed bursitis in the hip; an extremely painful condition for which he received steroid injections right up to the day we got on the plane. He was still in pain when we departed and managed our holiday by choosing how much he could do each day, leaving me to explore on my own when he felt he needed to rest. 

Three weeks into our holiday on the beautiful picturesque island of Santorini, he ruptured his meniscus and developed a swollen and painful knee. Medical advice was more rest, avoid stairs and don't overdo it. He continued with some walking & some resting. We modified our travel modes so that he could be supported. To balance this, I supported him and adjusted so that we could continue the experience.

Just when he was feeling more capable, we arrived in Morocco and I started to get pains in my right leg.

It was 14th June, exactly 2 months after we had left Australia and the day I was due to start "Painting for the Petrified" in Marrakesh. First, let me say, that our whole holiday was planned around this course. I had read about it in a newspaper in Sydney 3 years before. I was so keen to do a painting course in a foreign country. Bruce enrolled in a photography course which was being run concurrently in Marrakesh.

The morning of the course, I complained to Bruce that I seemed to be getting pains in my calf. I did lots of stretches and said that I was hoped to have a massage soon as I seemed to be getting pains in places that I hadn't had pains before. We met our tutors and started learning what we would see and do in the course.

That evening as we showered for dinner, I decided that I would take the time to massage my leg myself. When I exposed my leg I shocked to find that my right calf was severely swollen and hard. I immediately knew that I had clot. Don't ask me how I knew or why I drew that conclusion but I was 100% sure. I did know that being on the contraceptive pill was a major risk plus travelling and periods of immobility. (I decided to go on the pill for this holiday because my peri-menopausal symptoms were quite debilitating and a likely cause for embarrassment while we were travelling)

My experience at the hospital was mixed. First the emergency physician was quite sure that it wasn't a clot and I had to convince him to scan my leg. .

When the DVT was finally diagnosed by the cardiologist, he was very explicit about the potentially life threatening situation into which I had been placed. He said I was so lucky as I could have had a pulmonary embolism and died. he continued to say you must sit still and then he would trace the line from the clot in my leg to my heart / lung and say "kaboom".

I spent 5 days in hospital with the (mostly) delightful staff with whom I could only communicate with my school-girl French and they with their school level English. Funny & delightful but at times, extraordinarily frustrating.

In hospital I decided to surrender to their care. There was nothing I could do but submit to tests, investigations and treatment and trust that in all of this, they would keep me safe.

On the other side of the world, my elderly parents were very stressed and anxious. Each day was punctuated by a phone call to Australia with an up-beat update from me, reassuring them that I was still alive and very much on the mend.

I learned to give myself injections of synthetic heparin into my stomach twice a day. In 40 degree heat, I wore the bandages and compression garments to keep my leg from swelling.

The most stressful experience happened after I left hospital. Each day, I would relay information to the travel insurance company who were footing the bill for my experience. Phone reception was difficult and many of these phone calls were unbelievably stress-making. The cardiologist was very conservative in his treatment and recommendations; the travel insurance people were less so. They cited evidence that I could reduce the cost to them by going against the express recommendation of my doctor and resuming our trip sooner.

Back home a month later, my Australian doctor has said the travel insurance people were right. I was not in any danger but in a foreign country where I was constantly speaking through an interpreter, I was scared. I was helpless. I felt I had no control.

We arrived home in Australia on 18 July having completed most of our planned adventure, safely and without further incident. Yet the time to recover from my traumas has taken as long as our holiday. Tomorrow will be the 18th October , exactly 3 months since we arrived home and I can confidently say, I am recovering well.

I look at my leg and it looks normal. But underneath that pale skin lie several veins which have been permanently scarred by the DVT. The consequences are long lasting. The veins are forever compromised and will fare better if I wear a compression stocking on my affected leg.

To all intents and purposes no-one would ever know that I have this damage lurking beneath my skin. I feel emotional and shattered when I complete my appointment with my specialist. His information is clear, my body is damaged, beyond repair but if I treat it properly and do as I am told, I can continue to have a leg that looks normal albeit always encased in a compression stocking as a precaution against oedema, ulceration and something called post thrombotic syndrome.

Bloody hell. I am one of Brene Brown's micro-managers. For months I planned for and rehearsed every imaginable thing that could go wrong on this trip, at home and away. The one thing that I didn't plan for actually happened.

Now I am learning to live with vulnerability 101.

With 2 normal legs January 2012

 

Today's quote

Today I feel tired from the weekend and over stimulated from lots of people time. We had a wonderful social weekend and my introverted self needs some hiding time, so I am retreating into my book, Brene Brown's Daring Greatly.

I love this quote from her book (when I break it up, I absorb it better)

"If we are going to find our way out of shame and back to each other,

vulnerability is the path and courage is the light.

To set down those lists of what we are supposed to be is to be brave.

To love ourselves and support each other in the process of becoming real is perhaps the greatest single act of daring greatly."


Today's photos, one seen looking up as we did our morning walk and the other looking down.

Looking up Oct 2012

Love in the concrete Oct 2012

The things that trigger

On Thursday night, I spent time with 4 dear friends. We are part of a tribe of 7 women. We call ourselves, Baubo. We came together in 1978 as part of a street theatre troupe called Caravan.

In 1992, after a reunion workshop of the whole troupe, we 7 formed a small women's support group and have been meeting together every few months for the last 20 years.

I absolutely love these women. And they know me and my insecurities so well. We have been through so much together; marriage, child rearing, grand-children, separation /divorce, therapy, health struggles and life challenges.

I also adore being part of this group. We have a ritual that we follow every time that we meet.  Each of us is given dedicated space. A space we fill with just ourself. In that space, we speak about what is happening right now in our lives; our loves, our fears, our celebrations, our disappointments. We share our feelings. We are held and nurtured. We are accepted for whatever decision we are making. We can choose to just be heard. We can choose to get advice. Whatever we ask for is honoured by the group.

And yet, while this sounds wonderful and perfect and safe and the dream that each and everyone of us wants from a friendship group, things still can go awry.

Sometimes, when individuals speak in the group or respond to our contribution, it triggers stuff in us. This time, I left the group angry and unhappy which is  rare for me in this situation. 

I rang one of the group yesterday to try and unravel what happened to set off this chain reaction. Through the course of the conversation, it became so clear.

An action, a tone of voice, a simple off-hand remark can trigger a huge reaction in me. So it isn't about the other person or other people, it is all about ME.

So I decided to write a list of what triggers stuff in me. I am sure I need to add to this as things bubble to the surface, but here is what I thought of today.

1. Feeling vulnerable. This is a big one for me. Vulnerability can set off binge-eating, depression and anger. Some of things that make me feel vulnerable

• Trying new stuff like art, blogging, writing
• Fear of failure especially at new stuff
• Exposing my true but sometimes scary feelings
• Being confronted by my health problems and staring reality in the face
• Going public where it is just me and my stuff
• Being alone in certain situations; like a social situation or home alone for several days

2. Feeling criticised. Sometimes this is real and sometimes this is implied. I can  accept genuine feedback when I am in a space to learn but some criticism sets off negative feelings. The criticisms that I struggle with

• Being told what to do when I haven't asked for help
• Being compared to someone else
• Sometimes it is the absence of praise when I show / do my stuff (yikes)
• Sometimes it is simply when I don't feel heard

3. Feeling invisible. This is also a huge issue for me and I sometimes wonder if it is why I am overweight. This can happen

• In a shop where someone else gets served out of turn, before me
• Where someone talks over the top of me
• When I feel left out in a group, or I feel ignored

This week I am going to pay attention to what triggers me. Maybe I'll be updating this post with my new learning..

Northern Territory seeds, Aboriginal women's fertility beads, September 2011

a new view

My hubby and I spent yesterday in nature, in the bush and then with paper and pens writing lists about what we want to do in the next 2 years. We have blank canvases before us and endless possibility for stuff to do together and alone.

We have worked together for over 20 years and this often entailed making plans for our business with paper and pens BUT in the 30 years we have been together, this is the first time we have written a list of all our dreams of our life together.

In the past we have tended to deal with one-off dreams as they arise
a) let's live together
b) let's move to a different area
c) let's get married
d) let's buy a house
e) let's have a baby
f) let's start a business
g) let's sell our house and buy a bigger one
h) let's save up and go overseas together as a family

Along the way, we have shelved dreams that didn't suit us both right now, together. Time and again though we failed to discuss what makes us happy, what we are looking for in life, our individual dreams. Mostly, one of us would have an idea and we would discuss it to a compromise or one of us would win/lose/concede/yield.

Yes, it is surprising we are still together after 27 years of marriage- I guess we thought we understood what we both wanted.  Yesterday we did write lists of our dreams and we ended up with places where we agree and places where we diverge.  And lots more work to do.

Last night as I shared our story, a friend wanted detail about what we did, so I thought I would write out our process.

First we put headings on a page; travel, work, home, finance, creativity. Then we each wrote our dreams (everything accepted, no judgement, no discussion)
then we looked at the lists and found what was the same and what was different.

Amazingly we love our current home but feel we have different space needs now. So we took another sheet of paper and headed it up My Ideal House. We then wrote our own dreams in two columns. Space for creativity, room for visitors, close to the city with a country feel were added to the list.

Some of the things about a house also impact on lifestyle so on a third piece of paper, we wrote a new heading My Ideal Life. Again we had our own columns. My Ideals included part-time work, volunteering, creativity, travel, fitness, and being part of a community. The next step is to break these down into bite size realities so we can start to formulate a plan. 

Between talking and writing, we walked in the bush and took photos and let our imagination soar and our ideas take flight. Great day, good outcome, excellent process.

 

 

 

 

sometimes I choose to wallow

I have come to a rather startling and un-nerving (and totally unattractive) realisation recently. Sometimes I choose to wallow.

What do I mean by this? well for me, this is when I choose to sit immersed up to my eye balls in my own misery.

On two occasions in the last two months, I have found myself getting angry about a fairly trivial matter at home. Then after some serious sulking, some full-on defensive non-responsiveness and a whole lot of digging my heels in, I had an unusually insightful moment. It was, as if a thought bubble materialised above my head and the letters were typed in "This. is. of. your. own. making. and. you. could. choose. to. let. the. misery. go." AND scarily, my inner response was "nah, I want to wallow."..yikes!

Wallowing in misery is a lifetime learned pattern of mine.

In the past, my husband often called me on it and said, "your misery is infecting the rest of us". Then, I chose not to recognise this in myself and I just denied its impact. Now I am more open to feedback. I realise I can choose how I live my life, I can choose my response to trivial and significant mis-steps by those I love and strangers I encounter.

But this time, this revelation, my inner guru doing the check-in, this was a first and I want to pay attention to this.

Yesterday, I was reminded of a saying that Dr Jill Bolte Taylor wrote in her book, My Stroke of Insight about how we need people who give us energy, not people who suck the energy out of us. Her words became a slogan imploring us to "please take responsibility for the energy you bring into this space." (words made famous by Oprah, after her interview with Dr Bolte Taylor).

OK here is the thing, this made me realise that my wallowing has the potential to suck the energy out of space; my home, my creativity and my interactions with others..OUCH!

I have long realised that I am attracted to people who bring positive, fun, light energy into the space that they enter. And I have an equal number of important people in my life who are more like me, glass half full, pessimistic rather than optimistic and prone to complain when things don't go to plan..

Yet, I have only just understood that sometimes I can change the way I manifest myself. Wallowing isn't "genetic" like I thought it was.

I have some wonderful models of positive fun-loving energies that I am drawn to. People whose smile makes me grin, whose stories make me laugh, whose creativity makes me participate and whose love makes me reciprocate.

So I have printed out this sign and stuck it over my computer and I am going to practice paying attention to the energy that I bring into my space. This doesn't mean I can't get angry or assertive or just plain narky but it does mean where possible I am going to choose my energy and notice how I affect my space.


from http://www.kindovermatter.com/2011/12/please-take-responsibility-for-your.html

some of my favourite things

Today, I woke up thinking of lots of my favourite things, this list could be so long..so today's favourites are

• Inhaling the fragrance of bruised geranium leaves

• The sensual pleasure of stroking the silky softness of velvet

• Sucking on the tangy bitterness of ruby grapefruit

• Feeling the gossamer veil of sprinkling rain as it caresses my skin

• Catching sight of the exquisite tenderness of nature's beauty

Tree fluff 2011

5 things that I'm working on getting better at..

The prompt from my Blogging from the Heart course by Susannah Conway was "5 things you are really bad at".. make it fun she said.. Me, I am a self improvement sort of girl so here are 5 things I am working on improving.. (or not) as my writing eventually revealed..

1) keeping my herb and vegie patch alive. Only resilient and rampant herbs and vegies (and unidentifiable inedible weeds) survive in my edible garden. I have great intention. Twice a year, I raze my bed and plant whatever takes my fancy in the garden shop. I pay attention for about a week watering, nurturing, until the rest of life intervenes. I love the idea of growing and using my own herbs and vegetables. I just forget about them. Some days I survey my garden bed and am surprised to see the lettuces that I planted a few weeks ago are making progress (or not). My family jokes that my garden does best when we let the lavender or the mint just take over. Note to self, maybe the family are right on this one..

2) throwing stuff out. I loved donating my "big" clothes when I lost weight and I can throw out broken things but be blowed when it comes to sentimental stuff (like old letters and my son's baby teeth, I kid you not) or gifts that I have been given but will never use. I have found a charity that loves getting my preloved books but I can't find homes for some of my other stuff that is brand new and unused. I am in a dilemma do I give away to charity gifts I have been given that I won't use or should I conquer eBay and sell some of my beautiful space fillers (I have a set of crystal wine glasses, given to us as a wedding present 27 years ago that are just too good to use) Note to self clutter is clutter so maybe I just need to work out who to give it to or sell it..

3) remembering jokes and funny stories. When I remember a joke, or a funny story, I can usually elicit a laugh. But my family is so tired of me always telling the same handful of life stories for a laugh, they get a kinda "we've heard this one before" look on their faces whenever I start. Now I tend to preface my story telling with, not sure if you have heard about.. most people say yes you told us before! Note to self, time to keep a note of funny things that happen to me, one a day.

4) embarrassing my family in public. I love to dance and my son and husband are both dance-shy. So I usually dance by myself in public when-ever the music moves me. Sometimes in the city, a busker will set me hip wiggling.. Sometimes, my self conscious self steps in and stops me..Note to self dance like no-one is watching every day

5) improving my cake icing and decorating. I can cook a tasty cake but my capacity to make it look pretty or just appealing is really limited. My cakes look as though they have successfully escaped from a torture course. The icing usually runs off the cake, or the decoration looks lumpy. I try so hard but I just fail to improve this skill. In desperation, I mostly sprinkle everything with icing sugar and hope it still looks fresh on arrival. Note to self, it doesn't matter what it looks like, it's the taste that counts

What are you working on improving?



Crappy cake icing October 2011

What catches my eye

Looking through my photo files, I see some themes.

This isn't exhaustive but it is indicative of what catches my eye..mostly

Flowers

Desert Rose, Northern Territory 2011

Water

Water and leaf, Queensland 2008

Reflections

Reflections Darwin Harbour, October 2011

Hearts in nature

Uluru (Ayers Rock) Northern Territory 2011

 

Urban Hearts

 

Bondi, NSW 2011

Shadow Shapes

Lane Cove National Park, October 2012

Paddock Art

Driving home from Lou's place, we decided to take a different road through the deliciously named towns of Cumnock and Molong. We do have some lovely names for places in Australia. (Note to self this is an idea for a blog post)

Imagine our delight as we drove along this road, there interspersed among the gum trees and the paddocks of golden canola in bloom were sculptures of animals on bicycles. First we saw a fish, then a horse. Soon I was calling out, "Stop stop, I have to take a photo".

The sculptures ranged from the truly professional to the more amateurish but each of them brought a smile to our faces. Cartoon characters mixed it with Australian animals, more serious forms alongside the humorous. Then we started seeing bits of bike up a tree and stuck on a sign. Soon our focus was on spotting the next surprise.

Corrugated iron sheets cut into impossible shapes, old rainwater tanks and tin cans painted crazy colours, disused parts of farm machinery and lots of bikes; a superb recycling into art.

There is a bush poem by an Australian poet, "Banjo" Patterson called "Mulga Bill's Bicycle", could this be the inspiration?

'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that caught the cycling craze;
He turned away the good old horse that served him many days;
He dressed himself in cycling clothes, resplendent to be seen;
He hurried off to town and bought a shining new machine;
And as he wheeled it through the door, with air of lordly pride,
The grinning shop assistant said, "Excuse me, can you ride?"

Needless to say, Mulga Bill ended up in lots of trouble as later verses show

He turned the cycle down the hill and mounted for the fray,
But 'ere he'd gone a dozen yards it bolted clean away.
It left the track, and through the trees, just like a silver streak,
It whistled down the awful slope towards the Dead Man's Creek.

The last sculpture where we stopped was of Hod Rod Henny with a sign saying you could find more information at http://www.animalsonbikes.com.au/

Such a great idea creating "Paddock Art". Loved it.

Joys of friendship

I have just spent three days in the company of one of my dearest friends. I have known Lou for 43 years. We met at boarding school, in 1969, year six; we were 10 years old.

She lives in the country now, on a small farm, 7 hours drive from my home town, Sydney.

As soon as we see each other, absence, time and distance melt. It is as if we are always together. In each other's company, we are walking together, in step, sharing a rhythm borne of familiarity.

This weekend we are quilting, walking and talking. Side by side we work on different patch working projects, sharing ideas, fabrics, space. It is gentle and it is easy.

There are lots of opportunities for a natter over tea. We share our stories; our frustrations, our hurts, our dreams, our parents, our children & our friends. Slowly we sift through our lives, lifting, lightening and settling.

My heart is filled, nourished by the friendship of sisterhood, soothed by empathy and sprinkled with oodles of common sense.

Every time, I visit Lou, I leave again feeling well cared for and my inner being is rested and rejuvenated by being in her love and care again.





The birds in Lou's garden, Oct 2012

 

Held hostage

Help me please, I am being held hostage by my hormones. I am writing to you from inside the refrigerator. Shshsh...they are listening..

It has been ninety-two days since my captor robbed me of my thermal-control freedom.

His favourite weapon is to ignite a fire from within my body. He does it randomly, sneaking up on me without warning. Shopping in the supermarket, I am caught unawares. First there's the prickly skin sensation on my legs and then whoosh the heat rushes up my body to my face. Beads of sweat cover my brow and then I feel moist trickles down my torso. To the outside observer, I seem to have run a marathon while standing still in the cereal aisle.

The most frightening is the night time terror. Sometimes he wakes me five times at night, with his internal fire treatment. I throw off the bed clothes and lie naked, drenched and overheated. My husband lies beside me, curled in the winter doona, oblivious, snug and warm while I suffer the ignominy of summer from within.

The worst part is the silence. No ransom note, no demand just endless unpredictable and random torture.

I have been trying to guess what he wants. I beg him for an explanation, seek his forgiveness or at least some idea of what I need to do to be set free.

I try to explain, I like predictability. I am a control freak losing bodily control. Forty years of periods every 21 days was manageable but this no sleep, no brain function, endless distractibility and heat, heat, heat is so hard to get used to...I surrender..

So please, help me please..

Flame in Chinese Temple, Darwin October 2011