Life on the Edge

Whew!

I have just finished the second of the "Still Lives".  All day today I have been trying to photograph this new piece in a way that reveals something of its sensual, tactile quality because this is primarily an object for touching, not just looking at as in a museum. However, after one hundred or so deleted images, I need to give up trying to capture what just might not be capturable.

It is said that every picture tells a story; that a painting is worth a thousand words. In this instance, though, the picture doesn't tell the whole story. Therefore, if any readers are in the vicinity of Tasmania, please feel free to drop by for a hands on experience.

Not that there isn't something here of value. The photo detail below gives a hint, at least, to some of the complexity of the carving.

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I can’t begin to tell you, dear reader, how much satisfaction I receive out of the sensate quality of nature. Every time I split open a long bean pod and find within an encased row of beautifully packaged beans all nestled together, I marvel at the wonder of it all.

Nor, can I begin to tell you how much satisfaction I receive out of trying to mimic, through my carving, these sensual, organic forms of nature. Today, when the seed like spiral myrtle wood was snugly eased into the enveloping fruity womb of the huon pine, it was a magic moment. 

Measuring in length only 750 mm or 31 inches, it is not a large piece. But the sensual nature that exudes from the freshly oiled “skins” of these, rather intentional, organic beings, commands attention. Though small, they entice with an allure that can be overwhelming.

Rather than feeling elated by the birth of a creative idea taking final shape, the elation comes from a sense that here is a consummation of a marriage between two birthed forms. They do fit together like peas in a pod. And I’m happy.

However, this piece is only half finished. The next (somewhat courageous) step is to take the huon pine base and place it outdoors and let the wind, rain and sun do their thing for a year or more. The unblemished quality of today’s piece will age substantially in the next few months. That smooth “skin” will crack, will become blemished and will “age” a weathered grey.

As with my own life and as a matter of principle, I will refuse to “botox” away the cracks, exfoliate the blemishes or bleach out the greying process of life.

Next year at this time this sculpture, with its patina of “elderness”, will be even more beautiful than it is today.

Eros does not only shine through the eyes of the young. Firmness of character and perky maturity does wonders for love.

Now, if I can only figure out a way to keep the possums from chewing on the wood.

Brian Che, the current resident Windgrove artist, and I have had a string of slow, easy autumn days; mostly still and sunny with plenty of quiet time to reflect upon and create our respective art.

Looking through the window of Che's studio (once I removed him), the 2nd photo shows some of the smaller paintings progressing along. Outside, the 3rd photo shows a very large "Red" drying out next to the bath.

For me, it has been exciting and informative to watch the daily/weekly process; the multiple layering required to achieve these color field landscapes. A true skill. This learning experience is one of the rewards I receive for running the Windgrove artist-in-residence program. Hopefully, if I can sell some of Windgrove's 100 acres (I'm still working with the local council for approval), there will be sufficient money to build four artist chalets as well as a larger multi purpose studio. That will be fun. Better yet, an important development for Windgrove.

As for my work. The 4th photo shows a small "still life" that I am presently carving. The myrtle spiral, weathered beach stick and four stones will be "set" into a piece of huon. Slow, steady, meditative work. I sit on the saw horse, chip away hundreds of tiny slivers of wood, listen to the sounds of the day, and when the mood hits, head on down to Roaring Beach for a surf. In the evening a shared meal, good conversation and a bit of a read before retiring. Life's easy.

My last blog stirred up a good deal of discussion. Because of spammers I have had to close down the comment section, but emails directed to me at do get through. Four extracted comments (from three women, one man) ...."Your writing is defensive and aggressive. You say you want to praise the beauty and original blessing of the body, but the rage and defiance at the surface of your words is at odds with your stated intent." ...."I have just been onto your web site - so enjoyed your man in prayer." ...."Thank you Peter for spelling out and reminding me of the sacredness of our bodies." ...."It is a lovely photo of you and the marvellous tree... I am coming into a new practice and deep appreciation of my body lately. and entering my own inner wildness and uncharted cosmos within. All quite wonderful and I wish It had been sooner but I rejoice I am only in the early part of 2nd half of life. I have often thought of doing a nude photography class where we are all nude in nature- the "models" and the photographer and then we both switch...roles. It would be very beautiful, healing and respectful to do." I appreciate and value all four comments as there is something for me to consider within each of them.

Today, however, I want to avoid words and just share photos I took yesterday of two sections of the sand stone cliffs at Roaring Beach that have elements of the human form in them. These ageless "torsos" are beyond words.

First exhibited at a Hobart gallery in April of 2003, the Ancestral Altar was then sanded and polished as smooth and unblemished as a baby's skin. Then I left it on top of a water tank for a year and a half. Yesterday, I re-oiled and applied a soothing balm onto the cracked, weathered and blotchy wood; it was the skin of an old person.

It took a certain amount of courage on my part to risk "ageing" this piece, but looking at it now, the colors and surface quality is gorgeous; it seems to have just come out of an ancient Mayan temple. It shines with character and a deeper beauty; a beauty more aptly reflecting what an "ancestral altar" should look like; a beauty born from the effects of wind, rain and sun. A beauty not held back with botox, face lifts, nose jobs, implants and enhancements. If only we humans could move away from the Peter Pan beauty ethic and allow "life" to be our only beautician. As David Whyte writes in (sections of) "The Faces At Braga": ....If only our own faces would allow the invisible carver's hand to bring the deep grain of love to the surface.... ....If only we could give ourselves to the blows of the carvers hands, the lines in our faces would be the trace lines of rivers feeding the sea where voices meet, praising the features of the mountain and the cloud and the sky. Our faces would fall away until we, growing younger toward death every day, would gather all our flaws in celebration to merge with them perfectly, impossibly, wedded to our essence, full of silence from the carver's hands.

I was serving up stacks of pancakes this past weekend to a house full of children, dogs and happy parents when it dawned on me that this is the work I do best: being in service. Don't know much about geology. Don't know much trigonometry. But I do know that I love to serve. And wouldn't it be a wonderful world, indeed, if I could continue to do thus.

Aside from being arranged in a similar pattern to the pancakes, the second group of nine objects are not for eating. Instead, these are the block forms that are presently being shaped to create the second Windgrove Peace Mandala. Eight of these will be gifted to people around the world whose peace activism revolves around environmental and social justice. (See archives: 18 January 2003) Not exactly a Noble Peace Prize, but it is one way I can honour and serve those who are dedicating their lives to creating a more sane world. One such person is Bev Reeler who brings rape and torture victims to the healing forests and rivers of Zimbabwe. Her work is hard. It is also important. Her candle of compassion most often burns brightly, but I have also heard of it becoming dimmed by the unrelenting onslaught of government policy towards any opposition to its power base. I wish I could give more.

And me? How am I supported by others? Clare, doing yoga before the pancake breakfast with daughters Kate and Brook in the window seat, wrote the following email to me this morning: "I left Windgrove Sunday with an overwhelming sense of gratitude. Thank you so much for opening your home, heart and vision to us. Witnessing you living as you do, consciously, openly, inspires me to deepen my practice, opening to the magic, the mystery, the intangible element of beauty. Opening to grace." "I thank you for your kind attention to Brook and Kate, for it is through experiences of people and place such as you offer, that I believe they will form intentions to live by from their own goodness inside, from their feeling of connection with the mystery, with the forces of heaven and earth."

Twenty five Australian wood artists were invited to submit work for this year's 2004 Tweed Wood Biennial; the exhibition's brief being that the sculpture represent the artist's interpretation of the theme "Re:Cycle". The intention of the Tweed River Art Gallery was that the wood used for the sculpture should have already been used for another purpose. Simple enough. But...... once I started considering the etymology of the word "Re:Cycle", it became apparent that "Re" had more to do with signifying "in reference to" rather than "back again". The acceptance of the latter definition would have the exhibition spelled "Recycle" (without the colon); a word so recently coined (1934) that it can only be found in the appenda of the Oxford dictionary ("to convert waste into material that can be used again"). So...... with the more abstract former definition, I have given myself the liberty of referencing "Cycles"; in particular, the "cyclic" nature of stories and myths in our culture; looking at how stories of the past might be cycled back into contemporary usage; looking at the wisdom of yesterday and seeing how it might apply to today's world. Therefore...... my personal intention is to cycle back for consideration the story of Christ on the Sea of Galilee, the New Testament parable of the Good Samaritan, and, the Biblical commands of "Love thy neighbour as thyself", "Do unto others as you would have them do onto you" and "Do not mistreat a foreigner, for you were once a foreigner". Why?...... because these offer us Australians guidance in the handling of today's boat people crisis; they help us empathise with the refugees' personal struggles, wants and needs. More importantly, they are a jabbing reminder to John Howard, Amanda Vanstone and other supposed "Christian" politicians, that they need to put into practice those stories they should have learned in Sunday School. Peering over the side of the boat that is the sculpture, "Who's On Board?", is it not possible to see in the hull twelve little stone people plus one captain? Is it not possible to identify these people as today's boat people; those desperate individuals attempting to reach the shores of Australia? This is not simply an exquisitely carved boat filled with some tiny stones. Instead, it is an opportunity to go beyond aesthetics, to go deeper and to imagine people tossed about in an uncertain, wild sea as they make their way towards...... Towards what, where? The boat is crowded, the boat is pitching up a giant wave and the destination unknown. Wherever these people are going, they are willing to risk all to get there. They are willing to enter the dark unknown; willing to gamble that the captain will take them safely through their wilderness experiences to the shores of some distant Promised Land. Those huddled below are seeking a better and safer life away from their tortured and traumatised countries of birth. Do we have any cultural stories to guide us in the handling of these refugees? Despite whether or not they are "legal" or illegal" immigrants, hopefully some spark of empathy will enter into the hearts of the gallery goers as they walk about the exhibition (dressed in their comfortable fineries) and pure compassion will enter their hearts as it once did for the Good Samaritan. The viewer might also see in this boat, not only people from Afghanistan or Iraq, but the twelve disciples of Christ as he preached to them and calmed the stormy waters as they crossed the Sea of Galilee. Is this not an apt comparison? Is there not a "cyclic" event here that constantly repeats how "searching" people in any age are willing to leave all behind to gain a better future? Who are we to question those who have sought refuge in Australia or elsewhere? Who are we to question whether or not today's refugees are criminals? Who are we to deny them healing, humanitarian aid? Who are we to lock away any human -- child or adult -- caught up in the terrorist activities of this world? Who are we to deny anyone safe passage? There just might be a saint among the passengers.

On Saturday last, my friend and comrade in arms, Heather Rose (spokesperson for Artist-for-Forests), gave me the great honour of reading the just finished manuscript of her latest novel, "Dispossessed". On Monday, late in the afternoon while curled up in a cushioned chair with a quiet winter sun flooding into the room with a soft tenderness, I sobbed uncontrollably as the last few pages were read.

How is it, that what I know as fiction can touch the deeper recesses of a buried sadness within my soul and bring it to the surface of the physical realm manifesting as great balls of tears, wet cheeks and guttural howls? In moments like this, despite revisiting old pains, I marvel at how art, in the fulness of its creativeness, can move mountains and can bring to the forefront those aspects of our lives that can get lost in the hurly burly of today's world. Art is a reminder that a little more attentiveness be given to the ethical and moral responsibilities behind the priorities we might place on ourselves. The power of art is its ability to help us see more clearly what needs to be seen.

This morning, while sitting by the Peace Fire watching the dawn's light slowly advance from the distant hills toward the shadowed flames in front of me, I reflected on these words written by Heather in "Dispossessed": "What is true, is that it is but a fortunate few of us who make peace with those we have loved, and those we have hurt, before we die." "The curse of growing older is that we must live not only with what we have become but also with what we will never be." "Two fluid things, me water, it water, hearing one another, like two instruments lying side by side, a flute and a cello maybe, finding the sound we shared and playing it." "But was it a matter of struggling? Or was it about forests, and going when your time was up? Did a giant eucalyptus lament its passing? Did an oak, split in two by lightning, long for something other than its destiny?" *********** When I walked away from the Peace Fire, I left behind a simple prayer that somewhere there was a publisher who would allow the greater world an opportunity to read what I was able to read and found so moving.