salt and stone and sand and silt

So I want to include some landscape photography right about now… as I’ve been immersing myself in it in the last few weeks. Here on the fringes of the South West… where there are more than 4 seasons in one day… lord knows how I got here… but this seasonal desciption seems far more fitting for this reigon than that of the European seasons.
Noongar Seasons
Birak (Dec-Jan): Dry and hot. Also known as Season of the Young.
Bunuru (Feb-Mar): Hottest part of the year. Also known as Season of Adolescence.
Djeran (Apr-May): Cooler weather begins. Also known as Season of Adulthood.
Makuru (Jun-Jul): Coldest and wettest time of the year; more frequent gales and storms. Also known as Fertility Season.
Djilba (Aug-Sept): Mixture of wet days with increasing number of clear, cold nights and pleasant warmer days. Also known as Season of Conception.

Particularly if one considers late november/early december a bridging period between Djilba and Birak. Some days I find it’s grey and windy as it would be in winter, then in the next moment the sun has appeared from behind the clouds and with it comes a stinking dry heat. Away go the storm clouds and I find myself wondering why the fuck I’m wearing a sweater and not swimming in cool waters. Why am I talking about the weather? Not entirely sure but I think the notion of romantic landscape photography is why. Weather sets the mood! Despite the poorest of equipment, one should never blame their tools.. and I’m not, it’s been fucking great!!
Anyway. Too much beauty. Can’t even begin to try and relay it here… not now at least.. so I will just give the gift of images.

Also last night I dreamt that (the late) Mike Kelley came to do a video performance in Perth, a friend and I volunteered to be assistants for it. It was over 2 nights. The first night went well, it was enjoyable but low key as only a few people came. Video projections were being screened over giant piles of film reels and performances were taking places in and around these piles (don’t entirely recall performance specifics).  I could see Mike Kelley and the setup team were aggravated with my friend and she was annoyingly upbeat and playing with a toddler instead of keeping her concentration on the tasks at hand. Nevertheless I wasn’t too phased by this as she was oblivious so her  feelings couldn’t be hurt. At one stage Mike Kelley told her to make sure “that” man didn’t come anywhere near the performance – he was an older man with longish blond/white hair probably in his 60s that had just walked by at that moment. Later I don’t recall what happened exactly but my friend and I had got distracted and skipped the last part of the performance. When we returned it was a barren black apocalyptic wasteland.. the team still there – everyone alive, but dead dismembered birds littered the surrounds of the film piles and black tar seemed to cover everything. I felt great sadness and couldn’t even look at the birds… mostly ravens, some waterbirds. Turned out the man had come into the performance vicinity and there chaos ensued… what or how exactly I don’t recall. But he was a lord of darkness. Seems like a bad note to end a post on, no? of course noT! As it turned out (as it always does) it was all necessary.. everyone admitted that the presence of the lord of darkness was a necessary stage/phase in the performance and the greater life play as a whole. lawl

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bracken and meen

inlet1

Here by the sand and the silt.. by the coastal lands and the muds rest the humps, callousing the grasses sharp and the heron bristle rush. It was here under the tea trees that I saw him, Drummondii standing tall above me in his warrior stance.
And as I saw him I heard her say “the serenity of the surroundings have the capacity to amplify ones ability to reconnect and heal.” Words of my very own but… I did not believe her, not her voice nor her tone one bit. Not, at least, until I could expose myself (soul, body and all) to the land spirits en mass. To the great all-knowing ancestors that rest there in the stones that freckle the banks of a body creation. Because here, right now, I am a stranger and I dare not unsettle the sands, nor the waters, nor the air… though by virtue of the fact that I am here, I have been called. I feel it in my bones as they reverberate dancing with the waves within the stones… and it is there that I can feel whole… sit solemn in the circle and behold the untold unfolding in the cavern of my soul.

And we all just keep roaming through these sacred sites, where a mother does gift us with her tranquility and she; the serpent eternal, does gently brush her satin skin atop our heads as she glides over our minute heaving forms. Up and over and down through the lands, carving out grooves for valleys and rivers aplenty. For us to dwell and live and kill and die and continue life.

Bracken and meen

good doog

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I had been out of communicative range for awhile there, so damn refreshing. Bathing in the Blackwood – getting swept upstream – dressed in black mud and the cleanest murky water. I forget sometimes about the intensity of beauty that can cripple me at the best of times. And of the fragility in all of us, and in the abundance of love that floats around and how it aint hard to have fun and be a good doog.

Camp Doogs began as an idea in the wonderful minds of some creative Perth folk, as a low-key chill festival for good tunes and good times in a stupendously beautiful environment in the South West. I was generously invited to participate and make some art for the occasion, but by virtue of the very nature of it, it was bound to be more than just that.

 

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