Old Jim Mac
Old Jim Mac and his dog Pluto lived a long time in their cliff hut. Most folks took no notice
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Category: Sketch #2: Image/text vignettes
Experimental digital image/text place-based vignettes comprising small stories, fragmented reflections and historical glimpses. Combining prose, photography, audio, and video, these provocations respond to historical eccentricities, connections, and personal associations I encountered in Bunurong Coast locales and the archives related to them.
Litter in the dunes
Shards of brown glass still litter the sandy tracks. Once jagged edges now worn smooth. Smashed to deter the curious,
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On the susso
“We’re on the susso now,We can’t afford a cow,We live in a tent,We pay no rent,We’re on the susso now.”
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Hidden from view
Riddled with game trials, worn by heifers, mares, wombats and wallabies. I pause by the ambling creek to admire the beautiful skeletal boughs.
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In the Paddock
John Brown stands lonely
by a red gravel road.
Out of the Remembered Past
Perched atop the dunes, I watched the light of a waxing crescent moon dance on dark waters.
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Why here?
Lee side of the dunes / where Jim McDonnell’s hut once stood / midafternoon the big blue looms overhead and behind.
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A trail in the ground (image/text vignette)
A series of speculative sketches on the various meanings that can be read into a trail left in the ground.
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The Same Aspect
My grandmother assumed this aspect nearly forty years previous – easel, paint, tea in a thermos perhaps, two-year-old Easter eggs for sure.
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The Room In Which I Sit
Overlooking green paddocks and a Manna Gum laneway my snug weekender sometimes smells like sausage fat but always of black coffee.
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From the heath on the ridge
Rain cloud rainbow / Blue white, blue grey, blue black / Crows picking through bracken fields. A view from the ridge at Wreck Beach Farm.
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Overlooking scrubby paddocks and an unsettled past
Observing from a tin shed overlooking scrubby paddocks and an unsettled past, I have come to see the realms of the past and the present as inherently entwined. The past informs the present, but the present is also always changing the past.
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Clutching a hopeful sky
An image/prose speculation on standing amongst a thicket of Tee tree on Wreck Beach Farm.
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An Autumn evening from the balcony
Nahla’s brown fur is bathed in the soft light of late autumn. She surveys her domain, eyes alert for signs of movement.
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