On Wednesdays I head up the highway to East Lynne, into a clearing in the bush. In a shed surrounded by eucalypts, women gather, four or five of us most weeks, for a day creating. I write a bit, but mainly eavesdrop on wide-ranging conversations, as the other women paint and chat. My drafts are very rough: my creative pleasure is watching paintings evolve.
L, our host, is an Aboriginal woman, using dots in a non-traditional way, creating a vase of leaves. M. is doing a series based on waterholes – the current one evolved into a crane, and she visualises his raucous cry, using dots in a fountain above his head. L's painting is fantastical, and vivid with pinks and purples: it shows a figure having a haircut. Four disembodied hands are cutting bum-length hair to skull-fuzz: as it falls to the ground it turns into tiny snakes and lizards and other half-real creatures. She too ended up using dots to define the carpet. I wondered how I could incorporate dots into writing – a piece composed entirely of full-stops perhaps. Maybe one time soon I too will dare a paintbrush.
We celebrate a birthday with a lunch feast, using crystal and best china, sharing food we each bring, and finishing with a red velvet cake.
I'm posting this with a link to Paula's Thursday's Special, although it's really a case of Wednesday's special for me!