DANIELLE SIX MONTHS AT BROKEN HEAD
I find myself forever trying to lose myself and fall into the moment, feverishly searching for ways to remain in the FLOW. I feel strong and find the bold strokes from brush in hand and the rattle of the can of acrylic spray paint rocks me through the day and night, as I ride the vapours of what once was. I remain poised and alive capturing our Broken Head adventure. The blistering heat, the planned for lazy days in the sun non-existent, the constant hiss of uneasiness at our door step, the curves of breast and belly bringing joy and discomfort. We serenade ourselves for one last time as a couple before bringing new life into the world. Danielle is six months pregnant…
This is our Babymoon…
The rays of light are intense and as they boom through the fly screen of our tent. The day begins again. Not to wake to the sounds of the ocean, the sounds of chirping birds. We are woken by the thud of marauding bush turkeys, invading the ground from high tree tops. The constant white noise of neighbours antics and self righteousness. Our spot is at the centre of the excitement and that is the last place we want to be. Apparently this is what we have chosen for 7 days of peace. We are an anomaly in this space that jars and grinds us, plagued by the roving packs of kids on school holidays, spotlights searing the backs of my retinas as I gaze desperately towards the deep darkness of universe, trying to I feel the warmth of the stars gleaming. And then into the long nights and early wake ups we go again. Not the dream we both had in mind.
Those lazy days just seem to get further and further away. We are pushed and prodded like a science experiment. The place has changed so much, now pretentiousness and rife with commercial opportunity searching for the endless tourist dollar. Where are the trees, the big shady trees to flop under to escape the harsh sun? The days of Aquarius have certainly left the building. Nothing here but vacant stares with plenty of no one cares!
Our camp site is minutes away from a secret beach only accessible by a dirt track with very limited parking. There is so much potential for the soul here, until we are swamped by the tourist hordes. Fifty plus and counting more. I am sorry, old friend, our getaway Bay, we love you no more!
From our inelegant camp site we find an energising breath, a bubble, a glimpse of a moment of solace. A sea eagle soars high. Free to flow with the thermals up and around his landscape. We find the Aboriginal women’s tea tree bathing pools on our desperate search to get away from the tourist Mecca. We make many visits through the week, soaking up the good healing energy. Rejuvenating our souls and getting everything juicy for our baby to come. Echidna shows up at the least likely place. Visits our tent in his finery in the early hours of the morning. We engage in 15 minutes of play and healing energy amongst whatever this situation and place is right now. He understands us and why we are here, though he does find it hard to get his midnight snack as easily as he used to as he negotiates the tourists.
The week continues and we leave Broken Head a day early, only to find the peace and solace our hearts had sought as we returned to our property. No place like home…
Acrylic on Canvas
H 1200mm x W 1200mm x B 45mm
Solitude Art © ®