6:58am. Multiple synchronised explosions ground this body back down from its sleep state. Deep earth rumbles. Body rattles to wake, but not in fright. I was told about the clockwork of the everyday here and still my presence in this space hasn't arrived. Not with baggage, not in boots. I'm leaving. These crusty fair-skinned feet have been on the ground 5 days now. Walking, tripping, scuffing gravelled backstreets laced with corrugated iron, lose rubble, red dirt. Harsh sounds and signs of starvation ripple through me. Walked straight by particular pigeon - just stared right at me. Wasn't til later that I began realising what was going on. Mines still only a dim-lit understanding though. Much like the tungsten streetlights after dark, I do my best to illuminate the fullness, the emptiness.
Depressed, dehydrated. Keep moving forward. A stubborn, low and slow energy. Burnt out and scattered with watery red blue eyes sunstruck as if bathed by shards of glass. Skin dry and cracked, fighting for and with the extremities of the far west - as if it'll change before nightfall. But it does.
I acknowledge and pay deep respects to the Barkandji Peoples
on whose ancestral Lands this work is being produced
* This project is assisted by the Windmill Trust Scholarship, established in memory of artist Penny Meagher,
and administered by the National Association for the Visual Arts (NAVA).