These works explore the idea of feathers and flight and leaves having a relationship to each other. Plus of course the large winning work ‘lament’ with its poem ( they all have poems or stories) and the others are ’icouldfly’, ‘bluewillow’ and cagesoftears’ Dreams of flying started when I was seven years old. Very convincing aerial details of my 1970’s suburbs. The first time I flew was harrowing, the sensation of leaving solid earth to feel only air underneath and around my skin was crith-eagal (gealic for astonishment accompanied by extreme terror, consternation, trembling). It seemed very compelling in the next dreams to keep practicing.

But after a few nights dreams I was very good at it, it was so exhilarating to get above the trees. Wherever I may have been in my dreams, usually wandering the streets in the night as I had done in the day. It was especially fun to go when a person came by, as you lift off the ground you become invisible to them, as if you were never there, so like an invisibility and amnesia spell in one, plus you can fly away! So fun!

Anyhow the idea of flight being possible seemed so natural so young that its translated oddly into vertigo as an adult. Only on man made things, mountains and trees are ok, I trust them.

Very happily a poem cycle I wrote about grief and its artwork won the coveted Fishers Ghost Art Award 2024, Macarthur Award! ‘lament’ and its poem (an abstracted ink-painted illustration of catching clouds, flying over river and landscape, planting gardens with my feet and releasing the nine cycles of firebird griefs from my hands and my tears filling the river until it is an ocean). The river near my house inspired all the scenes. My childhood dreams of flying were the practice that led to the research about pi. Pi is a number that can describe natures sinuosity, especially good for describing river’s curves and bridge arches. It provided the tension I needed to wrestle with the sceptical readers who still find it hard to believe.

Believing is a thing I did since I can remember. So faith was easy, sunlight on my skin, light through leaves, flight and the caress of water and leaf forms meant I knew who God was when I going to find God. If you are reading this and those ideas cause consternation I can only say that these typed words intend to be gentle. Without the sound of a voice it may seem all kinds of negative, as the history of humanity has been to use love and warp it, so that when it is mentioned all kinds of dramas are released. All of us find our peace with God in our own ways. That was mine and very instinctive. I have read all kinds of religious texts and found myself back at flywaterleaflight. Who can argue or be offended with the word of a child? I found those things from 4-7 years old and they have stuck all my life.

Those dreams of practicing of flying taught me how to manage fear, so when I had the hard paths of adulthood to walk, with much repetition of the same fears. I mostly knew what to do, to use the fear to create lift.

It is very easy to react to fear and freeze, drop or run too fast. If you remember how to fly it is rhythmic and calm, and the crith-eagal becomes joy, aoibhneas na h-itealaich (the joy of flying)

The research I did for the Meeroogal, Nowra artwork for the 2024 Women’s art prize (my piece was not accepted) but all good, the research revealed that the carpenter architect of this one of the last wooden examples of 1830s Australian homes, his first language was gaelic when he arrived here?! Struggled to get work as a new immigrant as English was not his language. For some reason that shocked me into action. I am beginning to revive gaelic in my life. I am six generations Australian from South western Europe (and UK) so celtic and pict heritage with usual nordic streak) Its incredible for me that such an old language has my phrase “the joy of flight’ 

aoibhneas na h-itealaich

The grief I process for me, is to be a child not looked after. To have a longing all my adult life to be lovingly adopted (without clearly knowing it). But my studiousness, courage and creativity made me singtrong, so I was not vulnerable enough to submit to being under a strangers wing. I wanted my own wings. How I wish I had know that if I had not tried so hard, the journey might have been easier. This journey has been aoibhneas na h-itealaich. Family is making do with the love apparent all around, instead of what could have been.

Writing about light has no place to start. It is so full, full of significance and life giving. I tried to write about following the fairy lights for an anthology we created in my creative writing course at Wollongong University. Might look for that and see wether to share it next, my favourite poems with a faery light introduction…what I was trying to capture was too big to describe maybe. 

In my life since very small (as Christopher Robin says) there have been moments that stop my breath, still my fears, the anxiety melts, my spirit is so high I think for a moment I have always lived in clouds in the sky, brightly lit even in the storm clouds. 

All of these moments have been lit. Lit by streaming sun after rain, or the rainbow from the old plastic sun-catcher the children gave from the mothers day stall. It is dusty now. In winter there’s random rainbows in my now quiet kitchen. They go very well with rooibos tea and honey and milk (I know, sorry about the milk!) No more rows of sandwiches, just stirring myself from various weekly worries and fears. I’ve practiced breathing and staying positive. It doesn’t really work without deliberate gratefulness for small things, especially in the times when love and affection were not everyday things. 

So I always end up looking for light. The gentle kind on cloudy days, or The Simpsons-cloud days (from the intro song). There’s a reflection in a raindrop or the sparkle in my water cup by the Japanese garden that somehow was gifted to my very rural suburbia valley. Nothing like light in water that moves, mesmerising, seems to be saying that long gazing is imperative. Then there’s light through leaves, this is my favourite, I cannot count the tears that have been soothed by seeing light flat through leaves and onto my skin. Always there are sunsets and sunrises, and the after glows that surely mean all will be ok.

Anyhow I strongly believed that faery were real and was always trying to find them when I was younger, so flashes of colour or light was what I looked for. The habit hasn’t left me, I will definitely let everyone know when I see them! I am certain it was what gave me courage to get through very painful things. I had a challenging childhood. But was so focussed on following faery light or colours that it passed me by. Thats why stories and poems and drawings and painting and songs and dance mean so much. It is what keeps my heart moving toward light and love, not the mud puddle greys of despair. Although mud is pretty cool when its needed! I can write about these things cheerfully because I have allowed myself to feel. Felt deep dark emotions and questioned everything. Very often. Yet the light still lifts me, so I try to stay there. The habit seems to work, like gratefulness. My eyes see what’s good, even if there is great darkness. It is a bit annoying and optimisitic, especially if you read this in a dark time, will seem rather trite or too simple. I know it works though.