As my light becomes dark

I intertwine my words and vision into woven light

Tuesday, April 14, 2015

Mapping the Soil

On Saturday, we broke away from our usual environment of paint and canvas and Anna took us on an excursion at the Abbotsford Convent. It was a beautiful autumn afternoon and as I walked through the gates I saw my first autumn leaf fall to the ground, it twirled in the light breeze, and the light got caught amongst its crack. I felt myself inhale autumn for the first time fully and was grateful to be in this place with our painting group.

We were at the convent specifically to become a part of what I believe a beautiful flowing art installation called the Walking  Project which was being exhibited by Mary Peacock who is an installation artist, she has mapped and remapped the convent grounds and we were to take part in contributing to this same process.

I was so excited, and as we got deeper and deeper into the history of the walk, I began to feel myself embedded into the stone.  Part of the tour meant we were able to map the grounds ourselves. This defiantly was a highlight for me,  and I realised as I sat down at the table to map my walk, I barely remembered the paths I stepped upon. What I remembered was the feeling, of being, being in a place, a place that was sacred and private

I stand near the gates
Remembering the land
Hearing of women 
Whos shadows did fall
So I look to the sky
And stepped on the earth
I feel that my life 
Was embedding into theirs
Still they are laced 
Among the walls made of stone
As the sacred heart 
Takes rest
And my tears want to fall

Anna runs our classes in a lovely warm enviroment that supports us as artists.
Please check out her artists page on facebook:
Find Your Artist Within - Art Classes for Adults and Children

And you can also have a look at the beautiful work Mary Peacock does on her blog:

Mary Peacock's Blog

Tuesday, November 4, 2014

How hearts break

Carboard boxes
Hold the grief
Which I fold
Aound the broken
Glass and silent dreams

Needle and thread
Stitch my voice
Around my heart
Swallowing the past life
That now no longer exists

Friday, October 24, 2014

What the Island Told Me

A year ago today, I stood on the edge of the caldera over looking Thirasia.

I was in Santorini

I was with my friend.

I celebrated and reflected. 

I inhaled the oceans breath

and I fell deeper into myself

re-emerging from the sea

inhaling the spirit of the island.

This was no longer a dream.

In time the heart heals and experience drapes our backs with a cape of gold.  I live this  life, with the intention of imprinting the earth with my unique spirit.

As I look deeper within I see the shadows of myself, and realise without the dark there is no light, the light I  hold deep within my soul.

I am grateful for the year I have just lived, more so than any other year

I am alive

Monday, October 20, 2014


I twitch my toes
and shake my foot
I cross my fingers
to catch the hope
I count my breaths
to ten and back
I miss my mothers family
and hold my heart
I dream of darkness
and deny the light
I fight with the space
and fear to let go

Tuesday, September 9, 2014

Aquamarine Seas

Do I have a right to stamp my feet and scream and cry because of failure? 
I have failed, because I did not see.  
Now I have to process and make sense of this loss......  

She sold her reflection for four hundred dollars
Beauty held in her palm
Paper twirling with blue markings
In the summers breeze
A conversation with her hands
She sold her reflection for four hundred dollars
While standing on foreign land
She paid for coffee
And the movie where trees have faith
She writes about the inner pantomime
Her love of his music
And her dreams of flying
She sold her reflection for four hundred dollars
But her soul is now seen for free

Monday, August 25, 2014


If you paint, write, do mosaics, knit - if it's solving that part of your brain
 saying,  'I need to do this,' you've won.
Albert Brooks

"What do you do?" I was asked.   This woman had the warmest of smiles.

"What do I do?" I repeated aloud, I knew this was not a question about the Energy & Water industry which had given me a career for the past seven years.  I could feel myself begin to shake.  

"I don’t know" I felt out of my depth. The writer in me was silenced; the visionary who captured photos lost her vision.
I wanted to say :

“Ask me what I WANT to do.” 

But before I knew it my words were no longer trapped and I half-halfheartedly answered.

“Oh I write poetry, and I have a blog” very uncommitted to my deep rumbling voice that had been breathing in lines of poetry for quite some time.  But realising in this moment I didn’t really believe I was a poet.

Then my mother chimed in, “she takes photographs.”  I looked at my mother.  Or should I say, glared at her.

I take photographs like a real amateur, I felt like saying.  On my Samsung phone, uploading onto Instagram.  The social media force captured me and I began sharing photos, 3007 images  later I was a true Instagrammer, it was a social pass time, sharing photos with my friends.  Capturing moments in my life.

That was until my friend Marie practically grabbed me by the hand and took me to print my photographs for the first time ever.  She said “Sarah, you take photos of things most people just walk past.”

I realised that this had become my way of seeing, a way of knowing, and a new way of being.

So there I stood in the middle of the art gallery, humbled to be in the presence of an artist who believed in story telling through art, who described to me the freedom that comes from saying the words “I am an artist” something I had never done, but something I know my heart so wanted to speak.  And then she spoke of how she would love to teach art classes to people who want to be creative.

I almost jumped up and down.  That’s me, that’s what I want to do.  Learn about art, and create art in a non-threatening way, in a rewarding way.   I know, more than anything that there are few things that bring a level of calm over me (music, showers and theater shows) but mostly above anything else I know about my life, when I am creating something I am in another world.  It’s a feeling I crave and am obsessed by.

Before I knew about it, not more than a month later, I was sitting at my first EVER painting class. In a warm kitchen, and above me a glass roof, it was a winter afternoon and even though the day was gloomy and cold, inside this room, it was warm and comfortable.  I felt really calm, really happy and blessed to be surrounded by women (who I now know and see as talented creative women that inspire me to be better, create better and experience creativeness in a new found way) and here I was sitting beside my best friend Marie, and watching her experience this as I was filled me with so much happiness. 

And then, for the first time ever I began to mix colours.  I couldn’t believe that you can take one colour and by adding the smallest amount of another colour you then create another colour….to me that is amazing.

I am an observer, I love watching other people work, concentrate, get lost in their thoughts and their doings.  I loved watching these women and I found I loved that equally as much as being a part of creating.  I loved watching our teacher teach, and show and guide us on this path, and mostly I loved the joy in her face when we got something, created something and enjoyed our little creative moments.  To me, me feeling all this was a credit to her teaching.  Week one was all joy for me.

Week two we began the class with a 90 second exercise to draw/paint an object in front of us.  I had NEVER drawn like this before, looking and seeing objects in their true form.  90 seconds seemed to go on forever, and I couldn't believe that I could draw by seeing, rather than thinking what I should be drawing.  

This followed with an exercise of drawing by looking at the object but not looking at the page.  I was dictated by my thought “Sarah, you are already visually impaired, draw how you SEE” this came really naturally, sound and feeling took over, I could hear the edge of the pencil scrapping along the white paper.  I could feel the pull on my eyelids, trying to close and do this in darkness.  This time 90 seconds was not long enough.  The final exercise was possibly, one of the hardest things I had done. 

No looking at the page and using our non-dominant hand.  I felt paralysed.  I couldn't put the pencil on the paper.  It felt really unnatural “I can’t do it” looking up pencil hovering over the page.  But I closed my eyes and sat in the darkness, before I knew it I was drawing.  It freed me, it freed me from the pull of not doing it.  After 90 seconds I opened my eyes and looked down, I was astounded how much of form can be drawn with thought alone.

Then we moved on to learn about shadowing and tone, when I say “to learn” we are talking very informally, looking at pictures, the teacher talking about technique and having a go.  This is where I learnt my self taught lesson, of, less is more, and was able to translate the voice in my being into an image of a bowl.

Week three by far was the one of great experiment, texture and background and discovering how important a background is to any good foreground.  I loved the idea of creating the less important bit to create the important bit, loved that.  Being with others who were as excited as me and watching how we each see and navigate the creative world differently was a great experience. Yet again feeling terribly inspired.

As week four approached, I felt an overwhelming amount of dread, Saturdays and painting had become my favourite thing in my week, and painting had become my new way of seeing.  Between classes I was thinking about the ideas in my mind and the need to get them out.  I was thinking about colour and paint brushes and wanting everyone to feel my joy.

The thought of that ending created a sense of sadness in me I never felt before.

But I realise creating art never ends, it creates more opportunity. The classes were not ending, they were only beginning.

I am an extreme believer of serendipitous experiences and the earth creates 
experiences to guide us, protect us and give us what we need.

Here I was where my best friend believed in me and my photography.  Where she was the first to understand it as a way of me seeing. This set me in a new direction.  

Going to see an art show by an extremely talented woman, who has always inspired 
greatness in me (thank you Sarah!).  

Being with my mother and my aunt at this art show (and both of them being two of  my greatest believers).

And finally meeting, Anna, who in her own right too is a talented artist.
These people and those circumstances landed me in a position where I was asked a question I consciously had never answered before from my heart.  That question presented and opportunity and THAT opportunity allows me to be a student of Anna's.

And already, even after four weeks, she has been able to 
teach and share and provide me with a new and exciting way of SEEING



Thursday, August 14, 2014

Suspended in mid flight........

It is 9pm and I am alone, on my return flight to Melbourne, and although the past 4 and a half weeks I've been allowed the luxury of reflecting on my trip, it is now at 35000 feet flying over Istanbul, I feel a sense of myself connecting with the enormity of where I have been for the past month.   

As I head home, I feel like I'm returning to the person I need to be.

I have spent an enormous amount of my life feeling, thinking and believing  I can BE better, but in Santorini I was stripped bare. I couldn't hide from the nature of the island, and the deep confrontation was myself, and on every occasion where my boundaries were pushed I became extremely aware of my heart.

Waking on the first morning in Oia, I walked out onto the landing of our villa.   I stood and became suddenly aware of the silence.  Looking across the caldera the view of Thirasia, the natural enormity astounded me.  My heart started thumping realising my life had become visions of man made spectacles.   My once connectedness to nature had ceased.  Yet again something I was so unaware of.  Childhood memories of the King Valley come flooding back, the silence of the place reflected images of my childhood.  It was so present I could feel it beating in me, moment upon moment in my ears.

This was my heart.

How could two places, geographically so different be so similar in my being.  Mornings in the King Valley, where dew and mist draped the earth and the sky and mountains met.  The sun slowly would rise behind our house and the deep green rising to life from the night time fog.  The sun would break the darkness.

Eyes closed now the vision so clear,  even though I am conjuring a 20 year old memory.  Cobwebs snagged me on my morning walk to our outside toilet and the brown of dead leaves blowing in the cold of breaking dawn air.  The silence indescribable, and there I was in Oia, feeling those same feelings where my voice was no longer larger or stronger than my thought.

That was my heart.