My neighbor is burning off and as the pale smoke floats past my window I am dreaming we are living on a mountain in mist. Such is my imagination today. Wistful and delicate. Did not help that Anne of Green Gables was shown on Saturday night and I am Anne all over again. Luckily I did find my Gilbert.
I have images of last night’s Bangarra dance troupe performance to keep my thinking conceptual. Their fluid bodies in wonderful costumes and amazing music often had me on the edge of my seat. I feel as though I could fly as they did.
In one dance the dancers were painted—one black one white—and as they intertwined in gestures and movements the paint came off all over each other, smearing their costumes, legs and arms, their symmetry was poetic. I thought about the colour of skin and how little it should mean, as it is what is in our hearts our souls, one day we might all be able to see them clearly?
I am sketching nature. Drawing from my own little world again. This Australia I love. The ancient Bottlebrushes and Banksias sparked an idea. They are each so varied and different. I am aiming to make up a few new screens. Though they move around the page like a Bangarra dancer. Touching. They don’t want to be still just yet.
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