I believe you never truly know someone—or something—until you've spent time in their company, or, as the saying goes, walked a mile in their shoes. The amount of time required is subjective: is it a quick glance, a drive-by, a slow walk, or extended observation? And then there's observing and observing the act of observing. How deep do you dig?
I walk a fair bit—about five kilometres daily on my own. Once a week, I join a group for a 10-kilometre hike. Occasionally, I embark on creative hikes with friends or longer, multi-day adventures with long-term companions—our most recent being the Kangaroo Island Wilderness Trail. Then there’s the intentional, slow walking and observing I do with my wildflower friends.
When I discovered the Australian Walking Artists group, I was thrilled to join. The diversity of imagination and approaches within the group fascinates me. My own walking practice feels rather traditional by comparison. Several years ago, I realised walking played a significant role in my creative process. It provides inspiration, subject matter, concepts, and even raw materials. I walk, observe, document, and process. Each walk leads me to reflect on countless subjects and issues.
My daily five-kilometre out-and-back route takes me along a country road I've known for nearly 30 years—on foot for almost 20 of those. It never ceases to amaze me how much there is to discover, even as the landscape inevitably changes. What was once grazing land is slowly transforming into suburbia.
Recently, I found three Red Kamala (Mallotus philippensis) bushes along the route—one ready for harvesting. How had I missed them all these years? Now, I make sure to take note. Their ripe seed pods yield a beautiful golden-yellow ink I use in my artwork. It’s fascinating: red seeds producing yellow ink! To achieve this, I mix the hydrophobic seeds with an alkali. I’ve also planted Red Kamala bushes on my property and treat them like gold.
(The yellow colour in my artwork derives from Red Kamala seed pods)
Then there’s the Rhodes Grass growing along weedy roadsides. I harvest it, boil it, and blend it to create handmade paper for an ongoing exhibition project.
I’ve photographed many of the trees and vistas along this road in different seasons. I listen to the birds, note the roadkill (a turtle the other day), and recognise which houses belong to families. I also know where the noisy dogs live. With rising crime rates, I must be cautious when taking photos—wouldn’t want anyone thinking I’m casing their property!
There’s so much life here. The crows on the hill recently faced a territorial takeover when a flock of about 20 red-tailed black cockatoos moved in—what a sight! I pass hoop pines, crow’s ash, grey gums, angophoras, wattles, brush box, and bloodwoods. Some properties feature food bowls with avocados, button squash, and lychees. The cows remain, though fewer in number, yet still enough to attract a cloud of persistent flies.
Recently, I’ve focused on tree trunks at eye level—they may inspire a new body of work. Even after 20 years, I feel there’s still more to learn about this locality. Nothing stays constant, and that’s what excites me. How deep do I want to drill down? How much do I truly need to know? As long as it keeps me creatively engaged with my environment, I’m happy to keep exploring.
Joolie Gibbs - November 2024.
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