On the first morning of March, my 16-year-old daughter sat at the kitchen table over her cup of tea and declared with a sigh, ‘Finally it’s autumn!’ On the brink of a heatwave with stifling humidity and scorching heat, it certainly didn’t feel like summer’s end.
When I think of autumn I see dusks filled with dramatic cumulus clouds, bright yellow and brittle red leaves on my liquid amber and chilly morning dews. I imagine creatures everywhere slowing down, preparing to rest, gathering nuts and seeds for the lean months ahead. It is a time of harvest and preparation.
This autumn I am doing my own preparations. With only 4 weeks until my desert residency in the Northern Territory, I am considering what materials and equipment I need to gather and contemplating what I may experience in that alien environment.
Having grown up in Cape Town surrounded by mountains and the sea, and now living in the Blue Mountains, I feel at home in rising mists and clouds. I love being in and around water and the solace of tall, still trees and bushland. Even as I hear the call of the desert to immerse in its open spaces and intensity, I wonder if I will encounter dislocation and confusion as I bring my artist’s gaze and brushes to that vast and dry landscape.
And the word that comes to mind is trust.
I am reminded of the many times I have taken a path with no definitive end. The quickening excitement and apprehension.
I can no more control the outcome of this venture than any other.
All I can do is lean in… be present and trust the process.
As autumn arrives I consider what I may experience as I paint in the vast, dry landscape of the desert.