Time_Place_Space: Nomad

The dimension of roving beyond the ordinary, outside recognized and recognizable views, of getting lost and finding yourself again with no preconceptions, leaving your own common place behind you – all of this implies a willingness to be estranged. (Benedetta Donato)

End of Narrandera, end of Time. End of bush living, end of this detour in Thailand. I am at the airport soaking in the south. I am leaving Bangkok - and everything. I am thinking of constellations. I am recalling Ria’s silkworm cocoons. The tightly woven pods. I am thinking how, when wetted and somehow unravelled, these secret things give up silken skeins. How many threads and links we made in this pocket of time. How limited the days with infinite pools of time. How these husks expand, open, given water, given space, given distance, given invitation, given time. How chrysalid connections form a very fine, very thin, long wandering line.

What will you do with this? Will you mat it, felt it, wind or unwind it, keep it knotted, take it out from time to time, test it, marvel over it, wonder and weave it into everyday aspects?

In this narrative, the route is indicated by emotions, feeling, by the search for that instant in which the imperfect is realized. The instant in which, to borrow Cartier-Bresson’s phrase “to take a photograph is to align the head, the eye and the heart” in order to capture the authentic moment when synchrony is all: traveller and place exist in the same time.

This is how dreams are made.

30 chrysalids asleep side by side, head toe head toe in one shed, one bus, one refuge, one side. The only place is now. The only time is here. The thousand silken moments. A word, an image.

A constellation. One dozen. A hundred. A tangle of give or take 30 burning stars. Dense intricate windings and expansive flickering mythologies. Spinning, rotating, orbiting, drifting in and out of phase, on a trajectory, forming different groupings, different patterns - now spanning different skies. Tell a story; trace a picture in the sky.

Expansion. Working in the margins, between lines, along and beyond the frame to expand, to open. Marginalia to extend, excite, tend to the querying line, to counter and to draw…

The experience is certainly extra-ordinary, outside the sphere of the predictable. The narrator is aware he’s facing a complex reality that often overflows so much he may be unable to return to his limbo of partiality (i.e. the frame). So he also reinterprets what apparently remains outside the visual impression, because by now he is inside and has taken possession of it.

Allusions. Would that I could interpret this for your reflection.

Collabs. Dishevelled cutlery. Caution over compost. A helpful hint about the water. “Just dive.” Assistance in the kitchen. Tepid tea and showers. Hot coffee. Hot soups. Sambal by mortar and pestle. Performance. Seeping textiles. The braiding of hair and bracelets. Art and critiques. Triumphant rescues. Happy finds. Demonstration. Convos in town. Convos in pubs, library and schoolyard. “300 of you.” Water paintings. Walks. Collections. Op shops. Collaboration. Rocks. Projections. Aerials. Shadows. Robotics. The teaching of Canadians to speak Aussie. Ganguddy. Jokes, impersonations. Dance battles. Water bag. Another circle. State of emergency. State of conditions. Fireside confessions. “Not enough arguments.” Arvo. Fire up your manifesto. 5 among us reborn as chicken rolls. (Chikka rolls? Chiko rolls.)

Bangkok - not home, not centre. A perch from which I observed the chrysalid expansion. A point from which I saw constellations fly. The eternal big bang.

As Rilke puts it, “the future is set, Mr. Kappus. But we move in infinite space.”

The definition of freedom.

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Helen Yung. With excerpts from Benedetta Donato’s essay, “Extra_vag®ant,” a reflection on the work of Maurizio Galimberti.

how we do what we do

In Narrandera, we visited local farmer, Graham and were given a tour of his farm, an introduction to his practices, and an insight into a way of thinking that in my opinion, is extremely commonsensical, far-sighted, and exciting, and ironically not embraced enough.

 Despite the heat, I was deeply inspired and affirmed towards some of the ways I have begun to think about my work and livelihood, and have left the tour feeling challenged to delve deeper with those thoughts. Here is a summary of some of my key reflections:

 Graham knows that existing methods are not yielding the best results - not financially, nor with regards to stability; so he constantly experiments with new ideas to look towards new methodologies. He is aiming for a long-term growth, the slow burn, and a gradual increase in yield, turnover, and profit.

 He divides his plot of land into sections so he can try these ideas out without having to do a major overhaul each time. He experiments with the ideas around choices and proportions between and of livestock and/or crop (not relying majorly on one or the other), around choices of food source (like growing salt bush for the sheep), around the sense of time and the growth cycle of plants (scheduling grazing periods that would complement rather than destruct), and around a sense of natural order while supplementing nutrition affordably (sheep grazed at young salt bushes, which meant they grazed at the weeds too, and were also fed controlled quantities of seeds).

 You would think experimentation is a given with an artistic practice, but it is worth reminding ourselves again. It is also worth questioning, what are all the areas in which experimentation can occur?

 Are there patterned behaviours in our processes? Do we think about experimentation when it comes to the processes surrounding the creation, like the administration and management that will inevitably have to be dealt with anyway? Or do we subscribe to existing methodologies and infrastructure that may not actually yield the best results for our work?

 How do we split up our head/creative space, in order to most efficiently play? Are we able to seed multiple ideas and experiments, leave them to grow, and return to them when they are ready? Are we able to attend to them, and leave them again? How do we know when things are ripe?

 What is our relationship with the sense of time?

 I am reminded of my thoughts when we were at the Aboretum in Canberra. Coming from a city that is Singapore, where growth has and continues to happen so quickly, almost instantaneously in its nation-building priorities, I looked at the young plants and imagined returning in 20 years time; I recognised the reality of the passing of time.

 Contrast that to the recently opened Gardens by the Bay - of supertrees, a sophisticated self watering reservoir system, and a lot of fancy lights - both man-made environments, but so different in their reasons for existence.

 And so we learn to wait.

 What of the other side of the coin to waiting, waiting for growth? What of decay? What of destruction?

 I sit here in Cairns post TPSnomad. It is my first time here; it’s been a lot of first times these last 3 weeks. I wonder about the Great Barrier Reef. As I write this, Flotilla is happening in Newcastle.

 How much longer can we wait? What action can we take? What about now?

 So we ask ourselves, what is the goal here? What are the goals? Graham talks about a profit margin that is consistent rather than the sudden surge; to change the narrative around “waiting for the good year!” And as Lee Wilson pointed out at the final circle on our last morning - we are going to be doing this for a long time.

 Lee Wilson also reminded us to take care of our bodies if we want to keep doing what we do. And I agree. It explains my constant advocacy for rest, for “not making,” for stillness - because when we get busy, we get really busy. And when we have time to dream, we sure as hell should let ourselves. Sleep. Eat well. And as Lee said, enjoy a drink here and there, cut down on the smoking, etc.

 And if what we do is a constant up and down of waiting and acting, then we’d better have the stamina to go along with the tenacious spirit we already possess.

 But another thing we as artists don’t think to take care of is of our finances.

 Graham is working with an Economics researcher to find a way to articulate what he is doing and achieving in a language that can speak to the banks, so that they can begin to understand what he is doing, and be better able to provide infrastructure around financing such ventures for other farmers.

How do we artists think about our financial situations, as well as the cultural narratives around our financial situations?

 Why do we subscribe to, and perpetuate the “struggling artist” narrative? Why do we cringe when we hear ourselves, or another artist say, “I want to make money?” How can we make money, consistently, in our practice?

 How do we learn from entrepreneurs and businesses - especially ones like Graham? How do we adapt practices to enhance ours? And if we don’t understand the language, are we seeking to learn? Or do we just simply avoid it?

 I cannot speak for other artists. But I’m in this for the long haul. My “career” as an artist, is my livelihood, is my life. And in so, is a long-term investment that I am constantly adding to.

 For the projects that are already underway, I’ll see them through. But I reckon I’ll be looking towards some rather different options in how I am going to enable the coming ideas and projects; post TPSnomad, I reckon this is what I am most excited for, and the most tangible thing for me to act upon.

- Jamie Lewis

Performance Maker