I just spent 5 days in Tasmania, a landscape that’s not unfamiliar to me. I lived there as a small child in the late 70s and have a vivid memory of flying over the casino in a helicopter flown by a family friend. I was 4ish and allowed to hold the throttle and for years I believed I was piloting it on my own. Funny how this memory has stuck with me and each time I see the iconic building in the heart of Hobart I think about it 47 years on.
Childhood memories can subconsciously mould us for better or worse. Often my memories of place are based on smell, colour and climate. It’s the colours and textures of the land and sea that resonate with me the most.
This trip I ventured south to Bruny Island, with the indigenous name of Lunawanna-Allonah, where the wind turned out for a spectacular show. Gusts of up to 68km per hour made it difficult to even walk straight. And as the rain fell sideways, being outdoors was not an ideal option.
I managed to stop at a couple of beaches for a super quick walk. Southern Australian beaches offer so much more interesting sea flora and fauna than those further north. Despite the cold.
As with any travel I do, I always have my camera at hand and I’m happy to click away from the car seat and let my husband do the driving. I take hundreds of photos with the intention of capturing the hues of the landscape that flash by.
Southern Tasmania is incredibly dry at the moment, especially Bruny.
The farmlands are a pale, butter yellow and cream with tufts of olive greens and Sienna and rusty grasses throughout. Roadside shrubbery and trees are covered in dirt from cars travelling in gravel roads. The waters are crystal clear turquoise and aquas to deep mineral blues. Along the shoreline they appear bronzed and brownish.
Up close there are eucalyptus, you are immediately hit by the scent of it as you step out of your car. Blue Gum and Black Gums, Banksia, Myrtle, She-oak and Tea trees. And even though the Birch are not native I still love seeing them stand so tall with their silvery leaves glistening in the sunlight.
And I notice an undertone of burnt sienna if the sun falls on the fields.
Each landscape tells its own story through its unique palette.
A split second of time is transported through my cameras lens and then onto my computer screen to be analysed and thought over.
Sometimes these memories sit with me for awhile as I contemplate the larger picture of a series of work. Something that has a deeper meaning to my art.
Often just capturing the land. Or the sky or the sea isn’t enough.
I yearn for more depth and authenticity and these are a record of collected kaleidoscope memories I can rely on when I’m back home in my studio.