Every now and then I need a blog writing break. Whilst I’m away l feel free to look back through the space here, or go and visit Northern Gal or Ripple Poetry.
There’s so much going on I need space to breathe, think, write in long hand in my notebooks, prepare videos, a book launch, folios, exhibitions (a local one the Sydney one was postponed), see my son finish year 12 and sing duets with my daughter. She’s thinking about learning the bass guitar. My kids are thinking about busking, so we’re looking into that too.
I am doing my best to have a break from social media for a while too, just need thinking space, a retreat to gather projects, ideas, to be out and about with my camera, and be in real space friendships, family, and collaborations.
Be well, happy, creative and believe you can make a difference in the world, through both deliberate and random acts of kindness.
I will be back when I’m ready and thinking of you and sending you positive vibes for your life.
I’ll be sending out the newsletter before the end of the month, and you are always free to subscribe (see the sidebar) if you want to stay in touch with what I am up to, but for now, gone creating.
Lately I’ve been sharing a few book links – so excited to be making progress on non blog writing. It has me thinking about why I keep a blog?
I also keep trying to pin down what I want to write about and why to share it on a space like this.
So part of the reason I blog is to introduce people to my creative work, and give them a sample of poetry, memoir, photography and the creative process. Another reason – to share things that are truly important to me, like the essential evolving role of women in society, the need to care for the mental and spiritual health of our young people, and just things that are dear to my heart.
I did originally keep the blog for family and friends to read, but I don’t think most of them read it that often. Although lately my own children like to look up older stories now it has a longer back log of memories.
Sometimes I like to experiment and see if I can write humour, or try out a writing exercise and share it in the raw form. Other times I find an excerpt from a notebook, diary or old poem and like to stash it on my blog. A blog can truly be like a nest. I tend to treat facebook a bit that way and collect links and threads which I might then put into a storify creation.
Another reason I like to blog is preserve memories and events in the spaces of life and travel. Sometimes it’s small things and other times its massive things like cyclones. Life just happens and you go with the flow of that to write about.
This is not why everyone blogs, but it is the sort of blog, that personally I enjoy visiting. I’ll share some of the blogs I like visiting in some future blogs, but for today this blog ends with a free form capture in words of country life.
Standing on the edge of a circle of parents talking about how many lessons they take their children to on the treadmill of taxi parent hood and the dreams they have for their children
Driving past the circling hawks that even hang out over the local supermarket or the carrion on the road
Midday day terrors as a cane truck drives up behind me too fast and honks on his horn to push me off the road and I am driving the speed limit on a back road home
Listening to poetry on a verandah about places, and domestic violence, aids and post colonialism and treaties that hide in big words and non meaning words that are tinged with superiority
Staying at a friend’s house and wandering out to take sunrise pictures but waking the dogs
My best friend says she can’t follow more than four blogs about things that mean something to her there are just too many blogs and too many stories it’s cluttered chatter if you are pulled into the vortex of blogland And we laugh and continue to plan our book
A room full of marking and a loungeroom taken over by end of year teacher stress and my dear husband who is in that profession so many put down but they are underpaid, overworked and those who care so much work so hard if only more parents could see our lounge room flood..
Writing country or is country writing me with memories and somewhere are the lost youth who’ve given up on life and I wonder how we rewrite the country to be a place to grow and dream and not end up speaking of yet another suicide
Walking in the Greenlight -June Perkins
When venturing forth to new projects sometimes I feel a little trepidation. Will the audience understand what I am on about? Will they be receptive?
To overcome this I am visualising the butterflies taking flight into a blaze of sunbursts, and the purpose of my art being clear to myself and others.
A friend and I recently had a chat about dreams and how they can hold pieces of our heart. I realised I have lots of dreams about writing and photographing.
When I am stressed I don’t remember my dreams or feel like I have spent the whole night continuing to process what I am trying to say with my art, and it can make me sleepy the next day.
The night of this conversation I had an amazing dream about walking into a room full of my photographs and having them speak to others. I was so happy! It was just like walking in the green light of the Far North Queensland afternoons.
All the best to you venture forth into new grounds, and may you have the blessing of a positive visualisation.
Yesterday CRACA, Tully’s local arts centre, hosted an afternoon tea for some women visiting from Papua New Guinea.
They have been building ties with the local community and the plan is to make it possible for them to return here for seasonal work which will help support their families and projects back home.
All of the women were very accomplished, and within the group there was a farmer, business studies student, and a woman with a background of politics, as well as this they all had traditional handicraft skills.
They visited the arts centre to share some bags they made, and make connections with local artists. They have also visited local schools and a banana farm.
The afternoon tea was attended by writers, artists, gardeners, potters, weavers, the ladies’ hosts, and members of CRACA, the local Tully Arts Centre.
The women were given a warm reception and invitations to dinners and exchange handicraft skills were made for their return.
A fabulous afternoon tea was put on by CRACA, and some friendships forged.
There will no doubt by a write up in the local paper, as a local retired reporter who often writes for the paper was busy talking to the host and to the ladies.
It was a beautiful day, especially for me, as I come from Mekeo background (PNG Indigenous group.)
The women, although I have never travelled to my mother’s homeland were very kind and want to make me a bilum with Australian flag on one side and Papua New Guinea flag on the other.
As for me I am working on a photo book in return, as I am no good at handicrafts.
I joked that this skill has skipped a generation and made it into the hands of my daughter.
There was a lot of laughter and some skill sharing.
A memorable afternoon, and everyone looks forward to their return.
Off to Sydney soon on a project, so here is a memory of our past life there. Northern Gal, is where I am collecting memory stories together. You’re welcome to visit the blog.
The Paralympics, in 2000, gave us one of the most precious memories of our life in Sydney.
My husband and I were living there with our two young children (our youngest was not yet born.) We were both looking after them, whilst doing our PhDs at the University of Sydney on scholarships, and had just moved to the inner city.
Obtaining tickets to the Olympic events was hard and expensive. We were on a pretty tight budget. We chose instead to watch the Marathon with some close friends, from the road side (cheering on the world with a banner and chanting ‘World, oi, oi,’ which people joined in with) and watch what we could on television, including the race to stop the Nation, with ‘Our Cathy.’
However, when the Paralympics came along there were many tickets still available and everyone in Sydney was encouraged to support the paralympians as much…
June Paisa Perkins 