In 2017, I travelled with my family to the middle of Australia. And when I say middle, I mean that. Riiiight in the middle. The heart of the country. A place where the sand is as red as blood. No matter how much you prepare for it, it always takes your breath away. It took over seven days to drive from my home in Melbourne to Uluru. Suffice to say, it was an incredibly moving experience for many reasons.
What’s Australia anyway?
See, technically I grew up in ‘Australia’. But, my version of Australia was, fair to say, pretty narrow. In fact, until I moved to Melbourne in 2016, my version of Australia was only what existed in an approximately 50km radius from where I lived. My parents weren’t big driving-holiday folks, or travelling folks in general, so I had never experienced a ‘proper’ country town, or any sort of rural life at all.
I’ll be honest, the time on the trip flew, but it was probably one of the most interesting, moving and exciting experiences of my life. There’s something about Australians and taking their country for granted. We’re always looking to the US, UK or Europe for our next adventure, or to catch the next trend wave. But gee, we have a stunning country and I could spend my whole life exploring it. For now, these sketches and a few paintings will have to do.
Melbourne to Mildura
The canola fields on this drive are vast. I had no idea we ever produced so much of it.And, on a 6-hour drive, one has plenty of time to reflect. Often, these sorts of experiences produce words or images, not both. It goes to show how unique it is because colour and words washed over me like I never expected.
Word Sketch: Melbourne to Mildura
A golden gash splits open the horizon.
Separates earth from sky, the blues are purple here.
Along straight highways lined with white eucalypt masts
and unmistakable
those feathery soft, pink-faced galahs.
Mildura to Broken Hill
I’ve often heard that there’s ‘nothing’ between Mildura and Broken Hill. And, depending on how you look at it, you could be right. But even from a car travelling 120km an hour on a road as flat as a lizard snaking through the red dust, there’s plenty to see on this leg of the trip. The sketch is pretty raw, as sketches should be, but the majesty of the wedge-tailed eagle, and the vibrant colours of the ring-necked malee are enough to keep your eyes on the windows and not on the travel Guess-Who board game you brought along in case you got bored.
Broken Hill
I expected a lot of time to document the urban aspects of this lonely city in the middle of nowehere. But alas, we never had much time, and well, Broken Hill kind of knocked me for six.
I wandered the town with my family just for one day but the day felt like a dream, or nightmare, I still can’t decide. Broken Hill feels part dystopian landscape and part home. Obviously, it’s struggling economically having been built solely for the purpose of taking things out of the ground and selling them elsewhere. This town seems to have had ‘a’ heyday and you can see evidence of this in the gorgeous architecture that lines the main street. But the windows have for sale signs in them. Many are boarded up. It’s well and truly over now. In fact, the day we were there, the hot wind was howling which, I know, has coloured my experience of the place. I remember thinking that this was the closest I’d ever come to feeling a solar wind, it was that intense.
Word sketch: The man from Broken Hill
He says
the Mallee Ringneck is not from ‘round ‘ere
It’s too beautiful, must’ve escaped from a cage.
But between Oxide and Bromide Streets
windows are barred, and boarded.
They play two-up, but it only feels down;
One-up would do.
A festival of broken heels says it all.
But life above and below the hill still goes on.
Wind whips the dust up, hats off and
spirits down, for months on end.
The Mallee Ringneck escaped alright,
but he, no, he hasn’t found the exit
somewhere beyond Oxide and Bromide Street.
Maybe one day, he’ll dig himself out.
Anyway, Broken Hill came and went during the trip but it’s had a lasting impact on me, my view of Australia, and most importantly, my writing. In fact, shortly after this trip I completed my May Gibbs Creative Time Fellowship and wrote a complete first draft of a middle-grade fiction set in Broken Hill. So, if you’re a publisher reading this, get in touch and ask me about it. Trust me, it’s great.
Broken Hill to Alice Springs
Leaving Broken Hill was a bit of a relief at the time. But since I’ve left, I’ve learned more about the place, especially from Broken Hill natives, and I’d love to go back some day to explore, sketch, photograph it and also visit the surrounding areas.
The trip onwards from Broken Hill to Alice Springs was a bit of blur. A blur of dust, tea and flies. Now, I’m aware that those three words don’t necessarily conjure an envious image but you know what, I loved every moment of it. I loved rolling into our motel for the evening in every place. I loved the surface-level ‘nothingness’ of all the bits in between. If you don’t know how full of life the desert really is, I can imagine you’d get little to nothing out of it except for maybe understanding the distances between these towns.
Word sketch: The recumbent cyclist
How ‘bout we cycle
Recumbently
From somewhere like Coober Pedy.
We’ll stop at a salt lake on the way,
Then we’ll keep on truckin’
Beneath birds of prey
And at Spud’s Roadhouse we’ll rest…
a cup of tea
And a wee.
Me? I was glued to the car window. I stared for hours at the desert and how it changed from cattle station to cattle station. The colours in some parts were vivid, and others more muted. It’s, quite simply, an assault on the senses. One year on and I’m still synthesising the experience. For now, these sketches will have to do.
Word sketch: The Ochre Pits
A ten thousand year old sunset
and sunrise
Baked in layers in earth.
Rivers ancient run
Past wattle and ghost gum.
Red cliffs tower and cool
The olive green watering hole.
And when the wind blows
in a brief and fleeting moment
A spirit carves a line through
the choir of zebra finches
and it’s still.
Here.
Uluru
I’m always torn between how I should be approaching breath-taking experiences and Uluru was no exception. I find myself grappling with the spiritual part of it; that documenting it is disrespectful in some way and maybe I should just sit and be still. I’m developing a reflex for capturing light these days. If I see something (anything) that gives me a little moment of wonder, I’m reaching for my sketchbook or my notebook to document it in either words or images. Uluru though, that was different.
Word sketch: West Macdonnell Ranges
From a thick red heart
Beats luminescent life.
In woodland,
sand land and river
The silver sparkle of
River and ghost
Fluoresce.
The heart still beats
And floods the country
Occasionally.
I mean, what an occasion.
I won’t wax lyrical about it here, perhaps another time, but it’s simply stunning. Our schedule had only two full days planned here, and I was getting a little itchy for some painting. But, when I sat in front of this sacred geological phenomenon, I stopped. I found that it had the same effect on me as trying to draw the inside of a church. It’s a sacred space to a group of people of which I’m not a member. As an outsider, should I be documenting this? I don’t see members of that group doing so. It makes me think.
Anyway, I managed a couple of quick pencil sketches from the car park before we set off for a short guided tour around the rock. That was enough for day one. I finally got ‘used’ to being out there by the end of day two so I thought I’d take advantage of the stunning sunset colours and paint en-plein-air to really crown the trip.
Word sketch: Uluru National Park
The two elders watch
and guard, safe keep.
They are not fussed
by the minutiae of millenia,
with groves of gums
and nectar-sweet grevillea
laid at their feet.
Their shadows, ultramarine,
cast visitors a momentary respite
and the wind rustles leaves,
an illusion of distant seas.
Palya.
Despite feeling a little strange in trying to capture Uluru in this way, I was reminded of the power of sketching outdoors. Within minutes of getting going, the kids crowded around and saw someone doing something artistic. Then, a few minutes after that, that same group of children set up camp around me with crayons, pencils and textas and proceeded to capture Uluru at sunset. It was a heart-warming experience, and one I’ll never forget.