Lula came to Sydney to see if she could find a way to forgive all the hurt she’d endured over the years from the in laws. Could she say good bye and let the past stay in the past, not accusing anyone but rather allow everyone to just be different ? Lula smells the roses and talks to the kookaburra realising life goes on with the beautiful and ugly and she must find a way to grieve and sometimes never understanding why some thing happen. It is no ones “fault” it just is life.
The Pity of Love by William Butler Yeats is a poem that I think will keep popping up over the time.
A Pity beyond all telling
Is hid in the heart of love:
The folk that are buying and selling,
The clouds on their journey above,
The cold, wet winds ever blowing,
And the shadowy hazel grove
Where mouse-grey waters are flowing
Threaten the head that I love.
“Envy” loiters near his heroes home, Adam Elliott or more precisely Harvey Krumpet.
He hopes Adam’s talent will rub off on him instead he sits in the grass getting ignored and feeling sick with envy. Finally a friendly dog admires him in a doggy way. Envy takes that as appreciation. After all what is the difference between millions adoring you and a friendly dog?
I am sending these sculptures out into the world to have a dialogue with those interested in some of the existential questions like; What are we all doing here? What is the meaning of our existence if any?
Each sculpture has a” twin”.
One twin stays at home under the safety of a roof in the Pink Pansy Estate, a dolls house found in hard rubbish.
The other is left out in the world somewhere with a poem to engage you in these questions of our existence and our memories.
Which existence is better?
Is there such a thing as a better life?
The poems are sometimes in another language because the Xmas fortune cookie said ” The sum of human knowledge is not contained in any one language.”
I hope over time a dialogue might begin where the sculptures create a means for us to relate in the quiet of the blog site. What this dialogue will mean or not is yet to be revealed!
Fish last saw Flash in the hills of Airey’s Inlet Victoria Australia
The family last heard Flash decided to settle on Calton Hill in Edinburgh Scotland.
He felt a long way from Fish and perhaps wondered whether his family cared about him any more. He was not to know they counted the days for his return_scratched in their hearts. They wanted him to have an adventure and return free. Flash is free but he never returned.
A Pity beyond all telling
Is hid in the heart of love……
“i man” was left at a cafe in the Rocky Valley in Capadocia, Turkey
The waiter asked “What is this?” The reply “a present from my sister” He smiled. It was left with an Irish blessing because Iman’s Irish father came to Persia many years ago and fell in love. Now Iman returns. “We are all joined in one form or another” he thought. Frankie, his sister smiled as well when she heard.
Odd had made it to Cradle Mountain. He was ready to be rehabilitated.
Freedom away from the flats
We die and yet we live on in memory to be twisted and turned as the other creates their life and their memory…
Lapin in Healesville and wanting to know why they inscribed the words to Yeat’s poem incorrectly. He knew the dead man would be very upset!
Doug ( Je dois aller) in Darwin
Sydney Biennale Cockatoo Island
I am a success! Sydney bienale
What is a castle doing in the middle of Central Park, New York?
Graffitti Granny 
Dear GG
I have been playing on your website and have been touched by your creativity and your dedication in setting up a project that has an ongoing life. One of the Why children travelled with me to Sydney and was left in the Chinese Gardens at Darling Harbour. I went on to attend a conference about Autism and experience aloneness and terror – as it is theorised autistic people do. How would it be possible to live a life where both people and objects have no solidity or presence in one’s life. I find it almost impossible to imagine and terrifying to try and do so. Terrifying enough when you know objects are solid and have hopes and glimmers of relating to people.
I found this poem for you – you may have it already, but if so I think you might like sharing it again. It’s called “Hope” is the thing with feathers.
“Hope” is the thing with feathers
“Hope” is the thing with feathers—
That perches in the soul—
And sings the tune without the words—
And never stops—at all—
And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard—
And sore must be the storm—
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm—
I’ve heard it in the chillest land—
And on the strangest Sea—
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb—of Me.
Emily Dickinson
Love
Ethel
Its such as you read my thoughts! You seem to grasp a lot
about this, like you wrote the guide in it or something.
I believe that you just can do with a few percent to force the message home a bit, but
instead of that, that is magnificent blog.
A fantastic read. I’ll certainly be back.