Just over a week ago, I returned from my painting expedition in Central Australia. I wanted to write from there, but joyfully, I barely touched my keyboard while I was there.
You may recall that before I left, I wondered about how I would experience the landscape, what I would feel in the unfamiliar surroundings of the desert and how it would impact me as an artist and a woman. I felt some apprehension about whether I would be up to the task of painting there, of responding to the place with sensitivity and authenticity.
I was aware of my longings and expectations as well as many of the metaphorical, symbolic and allegorical meanings attached to deserts. My intention was to engage with some of these complex notions of the desert, whilst being curious and attentive to what I encountered each day.
When I first arrived, the sky boasted puffy clouds, it was hot and the air was incredibly dry. The rivers and creeks were flowing, and unexpectedly the grass was long and verdant. The insects were still active, buzzing and humming at my flyscreens, inviting the local geckos, with bulging eyes, to scurry in pursuit.
After exploring the East MacDonnell Ranges, I picked up my brushes to start painting and I experienced something horrible! Rather than slipping into a groove, I heard competing voices in my head judging, questioning, challenging and doubting. You can probably guess that this is not the first time this has happened, it goes with the territory of creative work. However, I felt a sense of urgency and wanted to fight my rising performance anxiety to ‘get on with it’. While this storm was raging internally, the external, physical circumstances also presented challenges – the flies, heat and sun, the gusty wind, the flimsy easel, the magnitude of the landscape, the dimensions of the painting boards and the unfamiliar behaviour of some newly purchased colours, to mention a few. I was in freefall.
This was a difficult start, but fortunately not the end of the story.
Instead of listening to those accusing voices and my own fear I chose to sink in. To trust myself, rather than argue or collapse. As I simply noticed the ‘same old’ phrases I offered myself compassion and understanding and this allowed me to ease into creative flow and find joy in the process.
Then I became completely absorbed, immersed and delighted. Each day I would begin painting early, before the flies were up, in the icy breeze of dawn. Often I worked for 6 or more hours, losing myself and all internal dialogue in the moment-by-moment experience of painting.
At night I began to dream in brush marks of rich colour. Burnt sienna tinged with magenta, cobalt blue and indigo… my dreams filled with strokes of paint, forming as though by magic in my mind’s eye.
Then, even more mysteriously… I began to dream that I embodied the mountain range, that my body as I lay on my bed, formed the bluffs, crests and valleys of the MacDonnell ranges, that I was the mountain, and it was me.
Even now as I remember this experience it fills me with wonder. I don’t have an explanation or clever words for what it was or why it happened, but I feel incredibly privileged and grateful for it.
And I feel grateful to you for companioning me on this journey… for the support and encouragement you provide. I have exciting plans to share my work with you over the rest of the year, including shows in Melbourne, Leura and Sydney. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy these images from my desert field trip.
Please drop me a line. I love hearing from you.
Trephina Gorge, oil on board, 40 x 80 cm - details above.