Amelia Zaraftis

Here's another of our new found friends from ANU. Amelia Zaraftis creates work informed by the specific visual language of the logging industry — the loggers' brightly colored lime-green vests, the spray painted or taped trees designated for removal, the colors on lumber that reference its size, etc. By emphasizing the aesthetic properties of materials, colors and signs familiar to the logging industry, Zaraftis draws attention to sensitive issues through play. The images below are some examples of her work. The red taped tree was done at Davidson Whaling Station, where some of us stayed during our time in the Far South Coast.

Greetings from the Mongrels — Amanda Stuart

One of the terrific people and artists we met at Pambula Lake is Amanda Stuart, a Coordinator of the ANU Field Studies program (along with Heike Qualitz and Amelia Zaraftis). I had the pleasure to see a presentation of her haunting work and was able to visit her studio at ANU to see some of her working process. The following is taken from her page on the Craft ACT website:

Amanda Stuart's sculptural art practice explores human relationships with the Australian natural environment, with a particular focus on "outsider" species. In particular, Stuart seeks to explore the tensions that arise when domestic and wild animal and human communities co-habit a terrain — specifically within the Australian landscape and psyche, making an effort to consider issues of land, culture and identity. She also aims to open dialogue between regional and urban communities and visually explore human connections to myth and place.

The images below represent her work in the Palmer Sculpture Biennial 2010.

6/13-16 Canberra

On Monday, June 13 the Land Arts crew plus John reconvened at Jigamy and departed for Canberra, the Australian capital. We stopped by a pretty cool "tip", which is what they call the dump here, then broke for lunch at a park. Outdoor public spaces in Australia have gas grills, which turns on at the press of a button and stays on for a certain duration. And by the way, this is usually free. So, we heated up some sausages and chicken that John cooked the previous night. After this, we began our trek over the mountains to Canberra. The winding road took us through some crazy prehistoric-looking terrain, amplified by the outside fog and condensation on van windows. We arrived at the Australian National University (ANU) School of Art at night and proceeded to divvy up the food between our two flats. In the following days, we got caught up on work (or attempted to) and checked out the town. This was also when our numbers dropped from 5 to 4, as Yoshi had to leave on short notice (see A Celebration with Yoshi). We met up with some of our new found friends from Jigamy —Amanda, Amelia and Heike — for a nice dinner at Heike's on Wednesday night. We saw a cool Turrell at one of the art museums. We walked through the National Museum of Australia sculpture park and viewed their collection of aboriginal art. On Friday morning, June 17 we would leave for our second field location (third if you count Kioloa), Calperum Station in the Bookmark Biosphere. See more Canberra photos.

6/12 Last Walk at Pambula

I stayed behind at Jigamy while the rest of the Land Arts group stayed at Davidson. It was good to spend some time with some of the great people we met from the Field Studies program. On the last full day at Jigamy, I decided to take a long walk around the estuary, retracing my walk with Cedra from several days earlier and then going from there as far as possible. I walked on the soggy lake bed at low-tide, trying not to trample groups of scampering sand crabs. Then I walked past the Bell birds' distinctive "ping" calls coming from the tops of the eucalypts (it sounds kind of like a submarine sonar signal). Then past the masses of straw-like material washed along the edges and past the red rocks where we broke for lunch before. Beyond this was new territory. After another hour and a half, and never getting close to the ocean (it was my initial goal), I decided to take my walk into the forest, which is largely made up of big red gums and other eucalypts, as well as areas with thick fern growth. Eventually, I stopped to draw something. It was my intention to cut through the forest to a part of the estuary where I was earlier, and I was navigating by the position of the sun, taking into consideration its westward arc and the fact that in this part of the world the sun at its peak is due north. Feeling fairly confident about my location, I stayed longer than I should have to finish my work, even though the sun was rapidly descending and was actually eclipsed by the mass of land behind me. Continuing on with a renewed urgency, even running at times, I sought the edge of the estuary. Beginning to feel a little panicked, I knew to keep descending, because that would surely lead to water, but incline/decline was now more random. The forest seemed as thick as ever — I could not see a clearing in the distance that would indicate a lake. Basically, I knew I'd be screwed if I were still in the forest after dark (though in retrospect, even under these circumstances, I'd likely be okay). The fact that this was a foreign environment, about which I knew virtually nothing, started to play in my mind as I clumsily, and with increased desperation, made my way. Eventually, I came to a finger in the estuary and knew I'd at least made it to water. But I was still a ways from camp, probably an hour at normal walking pace. So, moving considerably faster than normal walking pace I raced against the descending darkness. The toughest part would be the quarter of a mile or so just before reaching the campsite, which is thick with razor-sharp sedges (a type of tall, grass like plants, with large blades that inevitably leave paper cuts on the hands). The vegetation is so thick at this part of the estuary that you just have to force your way through. This was not an option in the near total darkness now. This meant I'd have to walk into the estuary, which was now at high-tide. My imagination went a little wild as I immersed myself waist deep in the dark water, moving among the now submerged mangroves. In the movies, whenever someone does this, they get eaten my a mutant crocodile or something. Closer to reality, I did remember talk of sting rays in the lake, but there was really no other option. I was not going to attempt to fight the dense overgrowth on land in this darkness. After just a few minutes (which is a really long time in this situation) I saw an abandoned shed, signalling the edge of camp.

Even though I was probably a little stupid for waiting so late to begin my return to camp, I also knew that this experience helped me to have a more direct interaction with the wilderness. Some pics of the trip.

6/11-12 Davidson Whaling Station

Most of the Land Arts crew spent the last days at Pambula Lake in a historic whaling station. The text below is from Cedra about the station (also posted in A Letter from Cedra). Her pics of Eden/Pambula and the whaling station can be found on her Flickr set.

The station was a drafty, rambling old wooden cabin dating from the 1880s. Sometime in the last fifty years it had gotten some limited electrical wiring, which could be brought humming to life for a couple of hours at a time by starting up a generator in a nearby shed; and there was a tap connected to the cisterns full of rainwater that got channeled off the roofs of the buildings, and a drop toilet just a few seconds' walk down the hill; and there was a wooden couch and a gas fireplace. In other words, it was complete luxury compared to our previous days' conditions! More importantly, though, it was beautiful and creepy and strange, and a great place to photograph and wallow in the history of. There were black and white photos of the families that have inhabited the place over the years, and of slaughtered whales; and there were wild profusions of rambling gardens, and frogs that sang exuberantly all night, their voices bubbling up through the cracks in the floorboards; and there was a long series of steps that led down to a little sheltered stretch of beach, where everyone was drawn to do performative actions and documentation.

6/10 Beach Near Pambula

On Friday, I spent the day at a beach near camp. The pics speak for themselves about what I saw there. There were some spots there with layers of color that were revealed in my tracks. I liked the simplicity and directness of just stepping into the sand and revealing surprising underlayers. Full album

 

A Letter from Cedra

As a means of bringing other voices into the fold, the following is an account from Cedra about her Australian experience so far:

After our brief stay in Sydney, we headed to the Kioloa Research Station, a large sloping stretch of property (donated to Australian National University many years ago) which connects rolling eucalyupt forests to the shore. Living in New Mexico, my experience with the sea is limited and infrequent, so it has been an otherwordly experience to be able to roll out of bed and pad a quarter mile down to the shore to watch the sun come up over the massive swells. The birds in this area of the country are outrageous. I don't know if I've ever heard so many different cries or seen such a variety of colored plumage. The tiny bell birds send their beeping voices bouncing off of the water like sonar emitters, and the sulfur-crested cockatoos scream and swoop like pterodactyls.