Beauty Steps

These are the final two in my series of four toy camera shots of the 2005 Miss Summernats Beauty Contest. I love, first, how the legs in the two shots match up and, second, the sassy ankle chains on the entrant's heels. She deserves a prize simply for walking along a narrow and raised plywood platform without a nasty trip-up!

You can see my other two shots here.

Love Hearts for Lunch

In late 2006, the CSIRO (Australia’s Commonwealth Scientific and Industrial Research Organisation) gave me permission to photograph the beautiful grounds of their Sustainable Ecosystems offices in Canberra. Once the stately home of a pioneering family, the white-washed walls of Gungahlin Homestead were completed in 1865 and whisper a tale of heart break — on 26 February 1877, owner William Davis Junior lost his nephew, whom he considered a son, in a tragic horse-riding accident. Devastated, a man so rich he hosted balls that ended with displays of fireworks, sold his land and abandoned the district.

I used this story as the starting point for two images I exhibited in Wasteland, a group show at Belconnen Gallery that asked Canberra photographers to consider their local landscape, both physical and emotional. You can read more about that here.

This image, however, is an “out-take” from that shoot. I think I’m a very structured photographer because I love the arrangement of windows and benches in a courtyard where modern-day employees sit to eat their lunch. The tiny hearts in the foreground seat are simply adorable — imagine having a spot like this at work!

Hmm … I like this picture so much I think it’s time to re-visit that shoot and create a series.

Wealth and Poverty: Images of Ecuador's Quechua People

It has been 10 years since I went to Ecuador, a South America that fits into Australia over 30 times. Despite its modest size, the country is one of striking diversity: in the Amazon Jungle, fist-sized butterflies waft in the sweltering air; the Afro-Ecuadorian population along the coast speaks of one-time slavery; and farmland in the Andes mountains is so steep that injury to farmers who fall out of their paddocks is a recognised problem.

These two images are of Indigenous Quichua people, who make up about 16 per cent of the population and are descended from the Incas.

I took the first in Otavalo at Ecuador’s most famous market, where Quichua vendors sell hand-loomed rugs, teddy bears made from alpaca fleece, sterling silver jewellery and naïve paintings on pig skin canvases. Their quaint fedora hats over long, black plaits are deceptive — with multi-million dollar businesses, these vendors are among the country’s wealthiest people.

There is something harsh about this photograph, with the woman glaring straight down the lens against the background of a whole roast pig.

In contrast, the two Quechua girls lived in poverty in a two-roomed house with dirt floors on a highland farm. Their kitchen doubled as a home for a gaggle of guinea pigs, which squealed and fled into dark corners when we entered, as if all too aware of their fate.

This image seems like it was taken at the beginning of photography, with the older girl’s awkwardly frozen pose and vacant stare.

Wildside?

True to my all-or-nothing form, I leapt into the abyss of digital photography two years ago, learning how to scan negatives and use Photoshop just one week before an exhibition deadline.

Not that I didn't have a good reason — any photographer with a cat knows what a single long, fluffy hair does when it lodges against a camera's film plane ... I needed a crash lesson in using the Healing Brush Tool!

These four images were the result of that first digital experience. While I fuss about their punchiness now, but I was thrilled at the time, not just with my newfound skills, but also with the effort it took to get the shots in the first place — first, I created them in-camera by running the film through twice over a cardboard mask and, second, I waded waist-deep into a sludge-filled lake, holding onto my precious Truview (Diana-clone) for dear life.

You'll be pleased to know I met my deadline with just half an hour to spare. The pictures were part of Wildside?, a group show at Photoaccess in 2006 that explored the future of the rolling hills around Canberra. Here's my artist statement:

Bulldozers, dust and new houses — living not far from Harrison and Wells Station, Canberra’s newest northern suburbs, I see our city swelling every day. I’m struck most by the process of development: first, the open paddocks we call “nature parks” are scraped clean, with trees plucked and hills flattened; then they’re rebuilt, with new trees planted and new hills shaped to fit block sizes and road layouts. New homes seem to appear overnight, along with “for sale” signs inviting “country living in the city” — ironic as everything remotely country has been transformed into suburbia.

Looking at Gunghalin in general, I’m intrigued by the number of public sculptures of native animals — including pelicans, ibis, kangaroos, koalas and platypus. It’s as if replacing living, breathing animals with concrete replicas is another essential part of the development of Canberra’s open spaces.

My images, shot in-camera using a mask of cardboard and electrical tape, highlight the artifice of development by contrasting its signs and tools with these sculptures. At the same time, they highlight the notion of home — as homes are built for one species, they are taken away from others.

Not that I see myself living outside suburban development — in fact, I explored a home loan the same week I shot these images.

Flower Brooches for Mother's Day

Even in winter, the landscape where I live is dry and brown because, like many parts of Australia, the area around Yass has been in drought for the last six years.

To show that we care, the local churches have banded together for the last couple of years to give Mother's Day "pamper packs" to women living on drought-affected farms. My church contributed a range of delectable goodies, including quilted bags, face masks and chocolates.

I got together with my friends Deb and Beth to make 70 brooches from vintage and found fabrics and buttons. We spent a frantic few days cutting, sewing and gluing ,and the result was not just sore fingers ... I think our pretty pins will be delightful on jackets, scarves and bags, or even on cushions and curtains.

After our marathon effort, I made an extra two brooches — the one pinned to the denim jacket is for my mum, who adores red, and the one pinned to the scarf is for my mother-in-law.

Happy Mother's Day to my two "marmies".

Yass Rodeo: Bear, Bull and Tags

Here are some more images from the Yass Rodeo and Yass Ute Muster, both held on 10 November 2007. Six months have passed since I last posted shots from this day here ... okay, so I either work very slowly or have been side-tracked!

The top and bottom close-ups are rather self-explanatory — most of us recognise the back of a ute and a fancy belt buckle. The middle one, however, might need a little clarification.

Under Australian law, livestock wear ear tags that show the property on which they were born and their year of birth. In fact, specific colours represent particular years of birth across the country ... for instance, sheep born this year will have a black tag. The big tags shaped like paddles are actually for cows, while the elongated rectangles around the hat band are for sheep. If you look closely, you'll see these have been adapted as mementos of special events. Instead of property IDs and stock numbers, they tell of festivals and friends' birthdays.

This is the first time I've seen this done. Isn't it neat?

A Little Too Meaty: Cambodia's Cow Market

The “cow market” isn’t on Cambodia’s tourist trail. Slimy, muddy and smelling like rotted grass, this is where those with iron stomachs can walk past human faeces or watch old men slurp up still full dog intestines cooked in broth as heartily as if they were noodles!

Not surprisingly, I was a Western novelty when NGO worker/missionary Jim Dawson took me to this Phnom Penh market in 2002. The stalls mostly sell meat — everything from recogniseable cuts to live eels, chicken entrails and severed pig snouts — and are run by women, who giggled and whispered about me as I took their portraits.

The proprietor of this small general store is striking for her dignity and strength. She makes a wonderful symbol for contemporary Cambodia, looking forward after such a ravaged past. She also reminds me of a relaxed mother hen, with her brood of five tucked behind her wings.