I am not sure what it is about horses that seizes us. It could be their size—an assertion of presence distinct from other animals that have been drawn into domesticity. I’ve been distracted by them in passing; there is a racecourse not far from where I live and an equestrian centre across the highway. I still smile at the memory of a chocolate-coloured horse who would peer over our back fence when we first moved to the outer-west fringe of Melbourne. It gave such an impression of an overgrown, inquisitive dog. Horses remind me of ballet dancers: immense power perched […]
A virus named because it is shaped like a crown is painting the starkest picture in generations of how power operates now and how it might be different. Are we bold enough to follow where it’s pointing us? So tiny we can’t see it without a microscope, yet it’s bringing the behemoth of the global economy to its knees. The invisible crown, inherited from our wild cousins thanks to our careless ecocide, is dragging down massive corporations, shuttering streets, and turning countless lives upside down. Governments struggling to retain control are responding with a seemingly contradictory tangle of authoritarian over-policing, […]
My housemate plants sunflowers for the summer and they all bloom in a row and all die in a row and then a few months later, in late autumn, a single sunflower shoots up all alone. One day, late May, he finds me in the kitchen, spilling an early coffee. He gestures outside, points down low. Here is the last one, he says. We watch it wobble in the wind, unseasonably warm. * It begins maybe like this. In fourth grade, when my father is diagnosed with cancer, something pulls me inward, holds me in place. […]
I pull ribbons from a drawer and offer them to my boyfriends. Their unique design folds rather than looping to economise on fabric. As we dress for the Basquiat | Haring: Crossing Lines opening at the National Gallery of Victoria, we debate its timing. It is World AIDS Day. I insist that it can’t be an accident. Surely, I say. Hours later, I lumber through the gift shop in a halogen induced stupor. This feeling stays with me for weeks which grow, like mould, into months. A novel coronavirus breaks the world. Still, I can’t identify the wound. In the […]
Was the interest in my work explicitly linked to my identity? Were they looking for the next successful blak book?
The hostage sky
The days spent staring at the sky: in daylight and at night, winter through to autumn, outdoors and from the window, on foot, at the wheel, starry, starless, a half-formed prayer on his lips that he dares not speak.
When he first arrived, he was transfixed by the sky.
When I was a ten-year-old I started going to The Sun Theatre in Yarraville all the time. It was a big old art deco building that had fallen into disrepair in the previous decades, but around 1997 it was resurrected as a film society. It had an enormous 1000-seat auditorium, one screen, and barely anyone ever went. The film society only showed films on the weekends, mostly black-and-white stuff. Films such as Rififi (Jules Dassin, 1955) and The Asphalt Jungle (John Huston, 1950). I saw Le Cercle Rouge (Jean-Pierre Melville, 1970) and soaked it up like a cinematic sponge.
I separated them today
As you instructed …
Already the vines had begun
To release their tiny tendrils,
So that one plant was sort of
Clinging to the other, its leaves
Furling about the other’s stem.