Jimmy Pike

On the evening before we took off on our holidays we saw the Jimmy Pike exhibition You call it desert, we used to live there at the Albany Museum. It was a set of about fifty artline drawings from the Berndt Museum of Anthropology collection chosen from about 250 drawings in total. The Berndt Museum, part of the University of Western Australia, holds collections of Aboriginal art and cultural materials as well as items from Melanesia, and South East Asia.

This exhibition was timely for us as we are heading up that way as I type this now.

Pike's works were extremely bold and colourful. I was particularly taken by his vibrant flower drawings.

Partiri (flowers)

Partiri (flowers)

Kakarra, Karla,Kayili, Kurlurla
Sunshine on one side, other side dark  

He also painted his traditional country. The image above is sand dune country showing the strong light and shadows that are present there.

Some of his drawings were of traditional cultural stories and he also drew stories from his own life.

Dreamtime story

Headband

Having an Xray

Wirl (Falling star)

Apparently Pike was hit and knocked out by a falling star as a young boy. A strong medicine man revived him. Because of this Pike often drew falling stars and stars as they were an important symbol to him. 

Pike, a member of the Walmajarri people, was born on the edge of the Great Sandy Desert in 1940. He lived a nomadic life with his family until they left the desert to settle on cattle stations in the early 1950's. He was introduced to Western style painting in 1981 and continued to paint until his death in 2002.

Link to a virtual tour of the exhibition here.

Firing into the night

I have been playing with clay recently something which I have hardly touched since I was still a teenager. Part of the fun this time around has been experimenting with raku and pit firing. All this has was done in the few weeks before we headed off on our holidays.

Raku firing in the rain

Flaming hot!

Looking inside the bin raku kiln

The smoking sawdust before the lid went on

Raku pot which had been thinly glazed in part

Raku pot

Raku pot which had been thinly glazed in part

Pit fire with copper flame visible

All these firings, bar one, went on into the night. A good way to keep warm in the middle of winter.

Pit fired pot which had been painted with cobalt sulphate

Pot which had been painted with iron sulphate solution

Pit fired pot which had been painted with copper sulphate

The raku pots were textured with carved lino blocks with a banksia theme and the pit fired pots were textured with pressings from banksia leaves, nuts and flowers. All this was inspired by some research I had read about. Some CSIRO reseachers had tracked singing honeyeaters to find out where they travelled. They flew up to about twelve kilometres from their normal home range just to get to a small banksia patch to feed on the blossom there. An amazing feat for such tiny birds.

This last photo was taken at Bilyuin Pool last night. Here I am doing an experimental firing and cooking up some textiles at the same time . The pool is in the background reflecting the lovely white eucalypt trunks in the evening light.

Mauve hakeas, red dirt and Bilbies

Check out the colour of this Hakea rhombales. I think it is fantastic. I first saw it in flower on a trip to the Carnarvon Ranges back in 2000. I determined then I would one day grow it in my garden. It has been a long time coming but here are images of the first flowers in my own garden. This hakea which I grew from seed, was planted about eight years ago when we first moved here. It pays to be patient.  

To the Ngaatatjarra people this plant is known as Walukarra.  Hakea rhombales was first collected by Ernest Giles in 1876 on his fifth journey into the arid regions of Australia. His party began at Perth, headed up towards the Ashburton River then travelled inland across the Gibson Desert. The hakea grows on red sand and loam dunes and sandplains. On this trip it was growing on the sandplains at the base of the Carnarvon Ranges in the Little Sandy Desert.

Currently access to the Carnarvon Ranges is closed while the Birriliburu native title custodians of the land work out conditions and management of access to this area for the general public.

Here is just a taster of the Carnarvon Ranges. We were fortunate to travel there in the year before access to the area was restricted. Our first stop was at Virgin Springs. Here there was a seep in the rocks which we camped well away from as many birds came in to drink during the day. 

Here are emus coming in to drink. They are well camouflaged in this environment. A little way down from here was a small pool at which we saw finches, budgies and birds of prey.

An old and gnarled tree growing beside Talbot Rockhole.

Serpent's Glen has this lovely copse of white trunked eucalypts growing at the base of the rocks.

The bark of a minni richi acacia glows against the sunlight.

In some survey work done in the last few years colonies of Mulgara and Bilbies were found in this area - fantastic! For information about the work that is currently being done in the area by the Birriliburu people in conjunction with biodiversity experts, anthropologists and DEC follow this link here.

Charmed feathers

My parents stayed with us a little while ago; Dad had been invited to give a talk to a local community group. One morning he spied a heron flying overhead and remarked it looked like the flight of a white-necked heron rather than the ubiquitous white faced heron. I'd never seen them around and said it was sure to be the common variety.

A few days after Mum and Dad had left I saw a strange large white necked bird down by our dam. Hmmm. Perhaps Dad was right after all.

Yesterday I saw it again and grabbed my camera and stalked it from bush to bush as I headed down the hill towards our dam. The bird knew I was there, staring at me, and moving slowly about it's business. It's long white neck waved from side to side, a bit like the cobras being sung to by Indian snake charmers. I don't know if the snakes really do sway from side to side, but it is how I remember them being portrayed.

The bird in turn was stalking things in the grass, perhaps looking for tasty frogs or grasshoppers. But why it had a swaying neck - it's head stayed steady - is still a puzzle.

When I was too close for comfort it flapped over to the other side of the dam. The bird eyeballed me again then came in closer for a drink. The double row of spots on the neck are sported by juveniles. The neck is all white on adult birds. As the birds grow up to a metre in height they are quite impressive.

This bird is sporting plum coloured breeding plumes. I think it looks magnificent. In the south they generally breed in spring to early summer, building a nest in a mature tree near water.

Finally it had had enough of me snapping pictures of it from behind a small tree. It gave a harsh guttural croaking call and slowly flapped off up the valley. 

Happiness is ...

Eight puppies at six and a half weeks

Lace and parasols

I opened my neglected diary this weekend and discovered a forgotten morning. 

This tree has grown at least a hand span

 down over the top of this burn scar.

We walked along the trail and saw scarred trees healing from the top down and burnt stumps growing from the bottom up.  

We saw the scrabble marks of possums on marri trunks from many a night's journey to feast on nectar. 

I imagined the pink possum tongues cleaning sticky paws and sticky whiskers. 

Fire loving plants were missing from the long unburnt bush, their seeds waiting patiently for a spark.

As always I was fascinated by lacy patterns made by trees.

 This was an old, gnarled and stumpy branched marri. 

Bees flew in and out of it's trunk, humming in its heart.

The green filigree above was mirrored by the grey lichen doilies growing on the bark below. 

Underfoot the damp earth smelt sweet, strewn with creamy stamens from the fading blossoms.

Intense red parasols unfurled between summers drift.

Overhead, shadow like crows drawled an intermittent duet while 

 frogs plucked strings in a noisy chorus from a depression beside the stream.

Butter wouldn't melt in their mouths

This morning Miske taught the puppies 'digging' and  'under the decking'. I watched as she jumped off the decking with a few puppies in tow and deliberately dug a few scrapes in the soft sand, nuzzling the puppies. She walked away then came back and did exactly the same thing again. Two of the puppies pawed the sand, following her example. 'Digging!! ... we could have lots of fun here ...' Next she led them into a bigggg hole she had dug earlier - 'this is what you can do with digging'. They rolled down the slope and kicked up sand as they scampered back up the sides. Minutes later Miske went to the end of the decking where the access to underneath is, again with puppies in tow and stuck her nose underneath as if to say, 'take a look in there its fun'. She was definitely on a mission this morning.

Under the deck has always been a place of fascination for the dogs. A few years ago we heard the sounds of digging, scraping and whining coming from under our deck. It was our neighbours dog going through the nesting digging stage of pregnancy.  There must have been some primal memory of a 'good den' that she locked away sometime during her 'holidays' here. We were so surprised. We hadn't looked after her since she was much younger and to get here she had to squeeze under our fence to get in to our yard. No mean feat when you have a belly full of puppies.

Miske did the same with her first pregnancy too - under the deck and digging for her life. Getting these pregnant diggers out was no easy task either - all they wanted to do was dig a lovely, well hidden den. It was a fight between their nesting instinct and obeying a higher ranking member of their 'pack' calling them out. Second time around we just didn't give Miske the chance to dig when she was in the nesting phase - we kept her indoors or closely supervised while outside.

Under is the newest game

The first excitement of 'under the deck' turned to squeals of panic as the puppies worked out how to get back out. Miske poked her head down where they were, while we had to cajole them out, digging even bigger holes for those that had ventured all the way under. Tiny tails waggled excitedly as they figured it out - then the intrepid pups went straight back under to test out their new found game.

By the end of the day the hole was a favoured sleeping spot.