many years later

Many years later than my peers, with the desire to start exploring visual autobiography - self portraiture? I have discovered the impressive internal transformation that Photoshop has to offer. 

The concept of the individual journey has been under fire in my life in recent times. 

"If I hear one more person say that it's just a part of their Journey..."

"I'm sick and tired of this New Age crap, it's not her Journey, we need to speak the truth as we see it and tell her to pull the plug..."

I am swayed by these passionate arguments. 

In moments like this one I cannot think of a better way to describe this non-linear life that I lead. It takes time, sometimes moments, sometimes years to understand things and for them to fall into place as they should. In 1997 my graphic design teacher showed me how to use photoshop. In 2012 I reopened the program... Seeds are sown, paths are walked, mountains are climbed. 

Words cannot do justice to the immense satisfaction I am experiencing using this medium. 

This photograph was taken in the foothills of the Himalayas. This was a hard time for me. I was sick, very sick. I was taking photographs. I was beyond lonely and I was doing nothing with my hands. 

My hands are more valuable than I can explain. I even hesitate to write this as I am afraid to jinx them. 

Doing nothing with my hands but my feet were in overdrive. taking me forward, holding me up and being injured, stubbed toes on the streets of Kolkata, cuts and bruises, all the while moving forward. These are the feet that were treated to new shoes from a stranger. While the feet were working the hardest they ever had my hands lay still. When I travel again I will take something to weave, or sew, or mould. 

These hands weren't made for wringing. 

yeah

there is something important about having a list
it doesn't matter whether or not it is written
having tasks pressing on my mind gives me a sense of purpose
maybe a sense of guilt.

I just decided not to do something that has been on my list for ages.

It is an important career thing

and I have a busy year ahead

and I have been telling myself that this is something I should just do. 

So just do it. 

not my photo

there comes a point when leaping hurdle after hurdle becomes a chore. 

right now I want to relax

to pursue more interesting endeavours.

I remember a time when I could read page after page of uninteresting documents, learning the nuances of policies that were entirely unnecessary. I must have had so much brain space. 

How times have changed. 

Nowadays I fly through documents looking for key words, quickly becoming frustrated and impatient... looking for shortcuts, stumbling, cursing... there has to be a better way. 

For now, I have decided to take the pressure off. This job will do itself when it is ready to be done. No more forcing things that aren't ready. 

(not my picture)

... and half a thousand dollars will be with me for another year or two

the past that time forgot

It's Christmas Day and I have an overwhelming urge to de-clutter my space. With a cleaner and sparser space I hope to conjure a clearer mind.

The problem is that as I go through boxes and bags and shelves I am reminded of previous passions, strengths and challenges. Times of poverty, times when I held onto things for fear of there being nothing else. The Great Depression.

The Great Depression it is when I am drowning in disordered, chaotic, dusty stuff. Be gone!

In my ruthless state I eyed some stitching. I worked on thus fabric in a moment of flow, using my new sewing machine, eight years ago, to stitch a mannequin free hand into some fabric. I loved the loose threads, the error of sewing too close to the edge... Imperfectly perfect.

thinking about my friend and thinking about me

Last night I heard a song, and the lyrics went something like this:

'...this old body is too tired to carry this soul anymore...'

and I began to think about a friend. He was my friend. A unique friend, a person unlike any other and he died this year. Died by his own hand. 

He was thirty when he left us and I often find myself wondering if this was such wrong thing. Indeed, he may have lived more, felt more than many of us could ever handle.

Like most other people I also wonder what it is that I could have offered him that may have kept him on this earth for a little while longer. 

I began to wonder about bodies and ages and tiredness. 

I wondered if his body was too tired, too worn out from all the pain. Or was it his soul that was tired? Or his heart, or his mind? Or his lungs? His lungs too tired to take another breath of his beautiful yet immensely painful existence. 

A while ago I experienced a film entitled Melancholia by Lars von Trier. 











I found this film to be disturbingly touching and personally relevant. For me, this film illustrated the depth of emotional experiences and the irrelevance of the external world - at times - when we are lost inside. 

To explain to another my experience of melancholia, is to explain wading, nose deep, through a seemingly endless ocean with seaweed tangling my legs and pulling me down, with algae in my mouth, in my hair, in my ears, distracting me, preventing my movement, with lead weights anchoring my legs in place... needing to move, to keep going, to escape the drowning. 

Then there is the helplessness and despair experienced by those close by. 

It is awful. This must be why families blame the individual for their behaviour, I can see why people would say that a person 'just needs to get their act together'. It's simply not the case. 

The moments of relief from the agony of melancholia, as illustrated beautifully below, may be fleeting, hopeful, and also deeply painful for those experiencing them. After all, if one may experience relief from the agony for a moment, why not for an entire hour, or a day, or a week or a year. 

I suppose it's times like these when I understand why people have faith, or a faith. 

For me, a faith is a kind of new age construct that encapsulates personal responsibility for actions while trusting in a higher power, as yet undefined, or maybe a more Buddhist philosophy of noticing my awareness of the experience, and attempting to experience the sensations fully.

I remember how comforting it was as a small child to be cocooned in my mamma's arms. That's what I wish faith felt like now. 

the time again

wherever we go
there we are

today

There is so much room in life for intentional beauty and thoughtfulness.

Some friends of mine once told me that each time they have a cup of tea it is a celebration. They take care in choosing each cup, each tea, and revel in the delight of each others company, their home, the tea, and the teacup. Some days call for strong black tea, others need the influence of a delicate earl grey. Their love is not lost on the detail.



















I think of old signs in shop windows outlining rules about school bags, street signs, open signs, closed signs, hand written and printed signs. With a little more care and consciousness the world could be a sweeter, gentler and more thoughtful place. I saw a sign today that made me reflect upon all the eftpos signs I have seen in my life, none have been this beautiful.

this life

Today I was offered the gift of a vacuum cleaner circa 1982.

The gift was not a simple gift. I was told that I could keep the vacuum but to use it only to clean one room, specifically my bedroom, in our very large, bustling, communal, homey home.

I graciously declined the offer.

A gift with conditions is not a gift at all.

just now

for tomorrow

how to tell a story

spaces and places

Sometimes a day feels less like time and more like a bag of feelings strung together by people and locations. 

Travel provides a unique opportunity to be outside of our routines. While I long to see new places when I leave my security behind I long for the comforts of familiarity. It's uncomfortable out there. Away from my privacy. Away from my creative spaces. Sometimes I would like to dip a toe and then leap back, back to my cosy space where I can think, and feel, and feel safe and unchallenged. 

The opportunity to look inwards and take stock, while looking outwards at a new place. Being away allows us with the freedom and somewhat forces me to be with people who may seem very different from us, and the time to begin to know them in ways that are often much more meaningful than the experiences we have with acquaintances at home. The term 'Quality Time' comes to mind. 

Of the many months, spaces and places that I have spent traveling the world it is the moments when I have made deep connections with others and within myself that are burned into my psyche. 

The time when I sat with two cyclists in Wat Suan Mokkh in Thailand. 

The magical and harrowing ten days that I spent alone in Sapa in the north of Vietnam. 

The month I spent trekking up and down the Himalayas with my luminous mamma, enthralled as she whiled away the hours with stories of northern Africa and Europe in the seventies. 

The day I spent singing in my car driving through the hills in northern New South Wales with three travelers sharing the joy of a sparkling souled two year old.

All 'those people' on the other side of the world,'the other', those are people that I care about. 

Then, a beautiful woman shared this with the world... sometimes I wonder if we are living parallel lives:

When something upsetting happens, it is tempting and easy to say, 

''That has nothing to do with me. What is wrong with the people over there?'' 

The pointing the finger response is divisive and can only create more anger and misunderstanding. 

We are all part of this world and we all contribute to it's beauty and horrors. 

The question isn't, ''What is wrong with them?'', it is ''What is wrong with us?''. 

Then a friend wrote me an email entitled:

 "Kristy! Why do you live so far away!"

Rather than simply being flattered I became philosophical. Maybe one reason why we live so far away from wonderful people is as a constant reminder not to fear the other. Those people are my people. It's harder to hate, ridicule or dismiss when you know what and who you are hating, ridiculing or dismissing. It's the exceptions that I am looking for. The people and the experiences that make me question the assumptions, the stereotypes, and the distancing.

Robert Frost famously wrote about boundaries: 

Something there is that doesn't love a wall, 
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it, 
And spills the upper boulders in the sun, 
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast. 
The work of hunters is another thing: 
I have come after them and made repair 
Where they have left not one stone on a stone, 
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding, 
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean, 
No one has seen them made or heard them made, 
But at spring mending-time we find them there. 
I let my neighbor know beyond the hill; 
And on a day we meet to walk the line 
And set the wall between us once again. 
We keep the wall between us as we go. 
To each the boulders that have fallen to each. 
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls 
We have to use a spell to make them balance: 
'Stay where you are until our backs are turned!' 
We wear our fingers rough with handling them. 
Oh, just another kind of out-door game, 
One on a side. It comes to little more: 
There where it is we do not need the wall: 
He is all pine and I am apple orchard. 
My apple trees will never get across 
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him. 
He only says, 'Good fences make good neighbors'. 
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder 
If I could put a notion in his head: 
'Why do they make good neighbors? Isn't it 
Where there are cows? 
But here there are no cows. 
Before I built a wall I'd ask to know 
What I was walling in or walling out, 
And to whom I was like to give offence. 
Something there is that doesn't love a wall, 
That wants it down.' I could say 'Elves' to him, 
But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather 
He said it for himself. I see him there 
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top 
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed. 
He moves in darkness as it seems to me~ 
Not of woods only and the shade of trees. 
He will not go behind his father's saying, 
And he likes having thought of it so well 
He says again, "Good fences make good neighbors."

I spent the weekend with some friends who live in far away lands. Lands that I am yet to visit. We spoke about everything imaginable. I learned many new things about myself and about the way we live here. I realised again the cultural relativity of the way we experience the world we live in. 

An evening.

A difficult, uncomfortable, irritable evening.

this morning

All my feelings are on the outside today. 
Like prickles catching the breeze, today I feel everything.

one evening

I often stay in. 

On Friday night I sat under a streetlamp in New Farm park with a friend who always brings gifts. I wonder if she knows that her company would be enough. It was real, honest, special and reminded me that I am alive. I found myself making things out of the grass, the leaves, the wire from the champagne bottle, a flower that dropped from the posy. My hands kept busy while I listened to her stories.

that year: two thousand and twelve

three more courses towards masters degree

three distinctions

fell in love with nephew

created an abundance of works in progress

discovered the xx

visited Indonesia

embraced napping

lived and died in supervision

fell well

experienced five diagnoses over five months for one rash

let go of twenty bags of clothes

turned some animated pages

morphed from a worm into a grub

engaged in a twenty year relationship with a cat called Frankie

A while at once

A few days ago

Yesterday

Today