Polaroid Diaries - The "Moonee Valley Arts Week 2007" Series

On The Wire - Flemington Commission Flats.
Sunday, May 13, 2007, 9:04 AM

Dear Diary - hung up and left out in the open...I have nowhere to go but I have a world to oversee...

	Four shoes - two sets of partners - inhabit a power line in the middle of a courtyard in the low section of the Flemington Commission flats...The sky is lightly peppered with the occasional cloud...
	Listening it becomes obvious that these shoes are not lonely - they are carressed by the ambient hum of the freeway traffic as they enjoy the cheerful company of birds...one of the guests has a quick chat then flaps off in search of the day's tasks... Listen to a sound bite from this location... (*.mp3 format, 940KB)
	So many complex and comforting aromas here...a superb blend of herbs and spices - the condiments and essential culinary ingredients of the cultures and multifaceted nationalities that inhabit this part of the world...
	At this point of the commission flats I find myself in a carpark courtyard that is hard and rough, being made mainly of asphalt and concrete pathways...
	Smell and taste are so interelated and interdependant it is impossible to seperate the two...grab a cross-sample selection of spice-filled home-grown take-aways, sample them one by one in one huge smorgasboard of flavours and textures and you will have the tastes of here...

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Flemington High Rise.
Sunday, May 13, 2007, 8:51 AM

Dear Diary - "...we are gathered together,
all our histories -
the baggage we carry...
suitcase on suitcase
box on box
layer of life
stacked in structures
pigeon holed
but not categorised..."

	A layercake of construction...steps laid out and pitted with windows, framing access to the inner, private worlds of those within...
	Seagulls and traffic blend together...parrots and sparrows can be heard constantly twittering in the background... Listen to a sound bite from this location... (*.mp3 format, 940KB)
	I can smell freshly cut grass and the slightly acrid aroma of piles of pigeon crap...
	The grass is soft and spongy under the feet of my tripod - but pigeon pooh sticks in the gaps...a soft breeze caresses my metallic surfaces...
	Mix a couple of handfuls of the pigeon shit that has built up over the years around here with the moist, freshly cut grass that covers the ground...brisky process in a food blender and you will get a hint of the tastes that linger here...it's not unpleasant...

Under the Ribcage + Sky.
Sunday, May 13, 2007, 8:34 AM

Dear Diary - "...there is a darkness on the sky,
a shadow steals a corner of eternity...
between the clouds
pockets of blue
lay claim to my attention..."

	I can see the sky, tessellated with small, fractured clouds...between the clouds the blue is pure and intainted by the dirty brown haze one sometimes notices creeping in...the underside of the freeway (sometimes referred to as the ribcage) clips off the left hand corner of the shot...
	The sounds of passing traffic mingling with bird song and crow calls creates an ambience reminiscent of the soothing rhythms of the ocean...I close my eyes and pretend I am lying on a beautiful, sandy beach, being warmed by the sun... Listen to a sound bite from this location... (*.mp3 format, 940KB)
	It smells like mulchy chip bark and crushed bluestone...rock and vegetation mash...breath deep...mmmmmm...
	The bluestone rock are about the size of a clenched fist and make it difficult to set my tripod evenly...a bush that looks harmless attacks me with its hidden thorns and stings me with a surprising ferocity...
	A creek, constrained in its wanderings by concrete, flows close by and I catch the taste of its water blended with the soil, grass and bluestone of this location...

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Cockie Tree.
Sunday, May 13, 2007, 7:18 AM

Dear Diary - there is difficulty in determining the truth of the things... harsh and jagged - the mournful cries in protest of another morning...or perhaps the joyful and raucous greetings in celebration of a new day...

	Gnarled, dead branches, silhouetted, draw roadways on the early morning's crisp, blue skies...white feather dusters seem to mark out the dead ends, punctuated with sprays of sulphur yellow...I struggle to capture all this - the light travels only in shadows and my film fails to hold onto the colours in this blue washed world...
	I can hear a dog - it has to bark and bark and bark...it has no choice than to snap out its protest against the screaches and squawks of the squabling cockies... Listen to a sound bite from this location... (*.mp3 format, 940KB)
	The air is filled with the smell of trees and grass...a deodar-like air slips from the pine fence posts...
	It is cold and damp...the grass is wet and dewy...a light mist hugs the nearby Maribyrnong river, giving a crispness to the atmosphere...
	The tastes here are pure rustic heaven...if I was a horse I would find want to stop to sate my equine spirit a while...full of hay and water, soil and fresh, fresh grass...

Tree Graffiti - JR (Kent Street).
Tuesday, May 08, 2007, 12:49 PM

Dear Diary - make your mark on the world...even if it is only temporary...

	Look closely at the smooth bark of the Kent Street trees...there are secrets and semaphores, ciphers and symbols...hidden truths and declarations of being in the knots and whorls of the grainy flesh and flaking skin...
	The moment I am prepared to click my shutter I am distracted by the ostinato drone of a passing street cleaner...halfway through its passage a helicopter picks up on the tune and sings along... Listen to a sound bite from this location... (*.mp3 format, 940KB)
	I can smell the particles of dust kicked up by the street sweeper...it mingles with a waft of metallic ozone produced by the sweeper's bristles brushing against the bluestone guttering...
	Overall, this tree's bark is smooth, yet every now and then I am disturbed by unexpected imperfections...here and there pieces flake off like chunks of dandruff to my touch...
	I can taste the sweet, woody tang of the tree's bark...the subtle tannic aftertaste of a fine wooded wine...

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Chair - Brixton Street.
Tuesday, May 08, 2007, 12:41 PM

Dear Diary - to follow the white line or to take a seat and spend some time spinning around in circles...? mmm...it's a difficult choice...

	Worn and tattered old office chair sitting in the middle of the road...skin like the weather worn features of a 60s sun goddess...her tan, the essence of her skin-deep beauty, the primordal pit of her, as yet, unrealised inner leper...
	The sounds here are unusually interesting for a little side street...cars and birds, distant warning beepers on construction vehicles, the screeching of the building they are ripping apart can be heard from blocks away, their sub-woofer hummmmm throbs throughout the neighbourhood...a car drives past and a tradesman drops his tools into the back of his parked ute... Listen to a sound bite from this location... (*.mp3 format, 940KB)
	Subtle smells of trees and old rubbish left over from a recent bin collection mishap...
	The road feels rough and catches at me as I scrape the feet of my tripod across it...the bark of the trees looks much smoother than it actually is...the tree is misrepresented by its own skin...
	I can taste the essence of the tree bark mixed with the muddy, tangy aftertaste of slightly rotting rubbish...