Making Friends With The Neighbours

Surfing online. No, really.

2012-01-30T14:22:00.004+10:00

I have been a big fan of the blog, Tenpiggiesover for some time now. The posts by Alex Swanson about the surfing lives of him and his friends are fun and interesting and they make my rainy Brisbane days when I have ben too long from the sea.

Now one of his surfing compadres, Erica, has begun her own tumblr called Semesters by the sea, so I can find even more images to keep me stoked online. Like these, for example;

The images I find on this site (and Tenpiggiesover) are far from glamourising surfing or wave-riding, but rather celebrate it along with all the things that surround it like boards, friends, surf checking, cars, joking around and trips away. These are things about surfing that I love too, and which are the things I miss when I think of my friends down south. I miss the post-surf coffee, the time spent deciding where to go, the hours spent talking shit and those spent making plans for trips to breaks up and down the coast.

And I guess this is the particularly cool thing about blogs and tumblrs, right. That they are written as personalised accounts of our lives. That they can present things without filtering it all through advertising obligations. That even though the authors can be scattered across the globe, I can find my own surfing world reflected in them, so that even when I am away I feel connected to the things I love about catching waves. Not the industry stuff, not the pro circuit, but the experiences, relationships and spaces. And sure, there are those which reflect also the more heinous, hideous, violent, exclusionary aspects of surfing too, but I can make choices to block them out, to find another site, to avoid adding to their readership. But the ones that I love, the ones that are thoughtful and optimistic and un-self-conscious, well, they keep me pretty stoked.

And for that, I thank them.

What's on the World Wide Web today?

2012-01-26T12:13:00.006+10:00

Some days, when I look around the various blogs and websites that I like to check, there are certain images, ideas or videos that seem to be the flavour of the day. For example, this week on design blogs, everyone is posting about 'cabins'. Yes - log cabins. In forests. I know, weird. And kind of boring at this end of the week.

But surf blogs are not immune to such 'consistencies' either, and on surf blogs today, pretty much all you will find is this video, All I've Found by Greenough. I've seen it in so many places that it's almost hard to locate the original online source (FYI. It's here at Kordury.tv). But, if you haven't managed to stumble across it already today, and in the spirit of this being a blog about surfing then... here you go!

All I've Found (George Greenough) - Sea Movies from www.KORDUROY.tv on Vimeo.

Things that make my day

2012-01-23T07:19:00.004+10:00

My friend Katie recently posted this clip on my Facebook wall with the accompanying message:

If people could be music videos, you would be this one xxx

And I'm happy to admit that if I could be a music video I would, indeed, choose to be this one. (Especially if it meant I got to rock those white and navy, red-belted swimmers!)

Things (not) to worry about

2012-01-22T20:19:00.004+10:00

For some men, being a father to daughters is quite a burden. Some never quite seem to find their feet, insisting on remaining blind to the fact that one day their little girls will become women. Which they will. But I recently read this section of a letter from F.Scott Fitzgerald to his 11 year-old daughter, which suggests a father who is confident, open-minded and loving, willing his daughter to embrace the world and the life that is waiting for her. Clearly, he's still not entirely stoked about the potential 'boys' bit of all that, but otherwise, I think he seems pretty good about it all.

(via Lists of Note)

Things to worry about:

Worry about courage
Worry about cleanliness
Worry about efficiency
Worry about horsemanship

Things not to worry about:

Don’t worry about popular opinion
Don’t worry about dolls
Don’t worry about the past
Don’t worry about the future
Don’t worry about growing up
Don’t worry about anybody getting ahead of you
Don’t worry about triumph
Don’t worry about failure unless it comes through your own fault
Don’t worry about mosquitoes
Don’t worry about flies
Don’t worry about insects in general
Don’t worry about parents
Don’t worry about boys
Don’t worry about disappointments
Don’t worry about pleasures
Don’t worry about satisfactions

Things to think about:

What am I really aiming at?
How good am I really in comparison to my contemporaries in regard to:

(a) Scholarship
(b) Do I really understand about people and am I able to get along with them?
(c) Am I trying to make my body a useful instrument or am I neglecting it?

With dearest love,

Daddy

The RA Girls Surf Show

2012-01-20T12:03:00.012+10:00

WCT shortboard surfers, Rebecca Woods and Amee Donohoe, have taken on the daunting but wonderful task of organising and running a new surf event for women, The RA Girls Surf Show. This event will be running from 20-22nd January on Copcabana/McMaster's Beach on the Central Coast of NSW, so if you're in the vicinity head along.

The Brian Hilton RA Show aims to inspire, encourage and enable females to take on the world in a safe and fun environment. It also has aligned with environmental organisation Take 3 to bring awareness to preserving our amazing Ocean environment and protecting it from the many plastics and pollutants which enter our waterways. Take three for the Sea!
The RA Girls Surf Show with over $15 000 worth of cash (one of the only female events to offer cash in Australia) and ... aims to encourage more females to get a taste of the lifestyle that has provided them with the careers and opportunities they have enjoyed over the last decade. The event will also provide a fun and interactive mobile weekend of summer fun from Copacabana to Macmasters, with the local communities that have supported them so well.
The RA Girls Surf Show has eight major divisions ranging from under 12 Girls up to Master’s (over 38’s) as well as a Bodyboarding and Longboard division.
The weekend will provide plenty of the entertainment alongside the surfing event including market stalls, skateboarding clinics, beach games, surf lessons, Saturday and Sunday lawn/surfclub drinks, live music, morning yoga and a wrap up party presentation.

Organising and being responsible for events like this is no small task, so I'm really impressed by Rebecca and Amee's efforts and commitment to the RA Girls Surf Show. With withdrawn sponsorship for women's events leading to them being cancelled, the efforts of women like Rebecca and Amee are increasingly important for women's competitive surfing. The other consequence of this is that it creates opportunities for women to enter into more organisational and leadership roles within the competitive surfing community, allowing them to create and run surf comps in their own ways. Perhaps it will lead to women's events being separate and self-sustaining away from the men's, and with different kinds of sponsorship outside of the surf industry (eg. Beachley Classic) that are potentially, more sustainable.

Women like Rebecca Woods and Amee Donohoe are key to the ways that women's competitive surfing will continue to grow and develop, and even more importantly, create new opportunities for other women. Projects like RA are inspiring and deserve muchos support and congratulations.

One of those unexpected midday stoke sessions

2011-12-29T17:07:00.007+10:00

If you want to surf in Byron Bay during summer, in the depths of the school holidays, then give up on any expectations about getting waves. However, what you can expect is thronging crowds, and getting snaked, dropped in on and interrupted on the few waves you manage to snare. You must compromise: speeding along int rim is awesome, but when there are 100+ people in your line, you have to turn your board. You have to accept being patient. I mean, you really have to love lineups. So when a few of us decided to go in for a surf in the worst of Byron's summer lineups - The Pass - we were dubious at best. There were uncertain conversations, there were 'Are you sure?' moments. But we went anyway. The sky was clear blue, the sun was shining, the water was like crystal and there was little swell leaving us few other options. And we figured everywhere was going to be busy anyway.

As I parked I saw Jules and Gary heading to their car. What's it like? I asked, hesitantly. Just don't expect anything, Jules laughed. But Gary piped up, I reckon you've caught it at a good time. A heap of people have been leaving.

We walked down the beach and paddled out into the fray. I got a wave. Terry got a wave. Jess got a wave. Then we all got more. And they were fun waves - long and clean with fast little sections! Then Izzy and Ryan arrived, and got waves too. Smiles spread across faces with exclamations of, This is pretty fun! We all surfed until the sun burned our eyes and faces. Stoked.

And I guess that's why we keep on surfing there. Because in amongst the craziness, in amongst the drop-ins and arguments and irritations, the place delivers in the most unexpected ways!

Christmas eve

2011-12-24T10:52:00.001+10:00

Fridge poetry.

Endless thank yous to friends, to home, to the ocean.

Bouquets. Love. Passing.

2011-12-13T17:45:00.002+10:00

Remembered

2011-12-07T09:59:00.005+10:00

I remember the surf I had on the day I found out my mother’s cancer was back and she was going to die: the colours, the sunset, the wetsuit, the disbelief, the sadness. I remember the evening light on the water. I lay flat on my board, my face at water level, watching the orange, gold, lilac and silver of the fading day shimmering on the glassy green surface of the sea. It was so beautiful. I think of that day when I surf of an evening. I think of my mother then. That beautiful soft light is bittersweet for me. From that evening, the ocean, the light, the time of day, the water, the waves, my board all wove their way through the following years, so the moments of pain, reflection, sadness and love found traction in my memory in ways that make sense, for me.

I remember the moment when I realised my heart was breaking. When I paddled out into the crowd last summer, thinking I could escape from the fog of sadness. But it didn’t work, nothing worked, and I was frustrated. I remember the too-bright sunlight and the too-full waves feeling like a taunt: See how good things are? See how life will go on, how it is going on? I remember the way the kind words of a friend made my shoulders and tears begin to drop as I sat with her in the salt water. On that day, I stopped trying to fight anything.

With continuing confusion, I remember the times when the ocean failed me. When it failed to offer the comfort, escape and release I had always found there, that I assumed. When it dunked, tumbled and drowned me. When it swallowed me and spat me out. When I walked home covered in sand, more tired, aching and unsure than when I had arrived.

I remember the last time mum came to the beach with me. She insisted on coming to watch me surf, even though I knew she couldn’t see that far. But that wasn’t the point, really. She shuffled to my car and I closed the door after she tucked her already tiny frame inside. When we arrived, I ran up the path to check it was worth it – like there was any doubt – and bumped into an old friend who helped me set her on a towel in the sand and sat with her for a while. In an uncrowded lineup I waited for the one foot set waves to peel through. A dad was there with four ‘sponsored’ grommets, maybe nine or ten years old, there for a competition that weekend. The kids were awfully behaved and kept dropping in and snaking me, and the two others out. I paddled further down the break, away from them and into a lovely long wave. One of the kids tried to snake me as I surfed, and when I stuck the line, the child screamed after me ‘Fuck you, mate’! Furious, I paddled after him, towards his father. I told him what happened, he told me to get over it. I erupted into words and gestures, pointing to my mother, so small in the sand-dunes, arguing against such behaviour, arguing that I was there to get waves, to escape, not to cop abuse from a child. The father accused me of nearly hitting the boy, believing the bald-faced lie the child had told to avoid getting into trouble. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. They paddled away and I sat in the disappointment of the moment. The shock of the argument, the treatment I was forced to accept. That this was the last time I would share the beach with my mum. I fucking hated them. I think I still do.

I remember the time I surfed the beach break behind my house, alone except for one cute guy. Chatting with him, forgetting the little body that I loved so much, that was wasting into skin and bones not even 500 metres away from where we sat: salty and flirting. I remember watching him and thinking of a million other ways to escape and forget, but choosing instead to catch a wave into the shore and walk back along the track alone. Home.

I remember spending hours sitting on the edge of a north Sydney beach. The beach itself, as a whole, felt familiar, but the pieces of it strange and ill-fitting. Course, grainy, yellow sand, almost-black water, pine trees and over-sized houses crowding the shore. I wondered how I would make it back up the hill and down again to where I was staying, how my legs would get me there? How my heart would get me there.

I remember, more recently, starting to breathe again, finding solace and calm in the ocean once more. I learned to paddle out alone, to say no, to leave the others. I found a way to make the ocean my own in new ways, to surf it on my own terms.

I remember finding how weak I have become. Finding it hard to paddle, to carry my board, to make it out through the whitewater. My body no longer accustomed to the rhythms, demands and requirements of surfing. The things I have been so proud of – being capable, being strong, being able to look after myself – have drifted and weakened and I have learned to accept help.

And now I remember my surf this morning. Tiny and full and gently raining, but I paddled into the water anyway. Me and two old guys and waves a-plenty. I picked off the middle-sized and smaller ones, which were better as they held their form and broke along the shore without closing out. One of the guys was chatty, complimenting my waves and dwelling on the beauty of the morning. When he asked me how I was, without missing a beat I answered ‘Good, thanks’. And I meant it. Feeling good made me think of my mother, alone in the hospital in town, tiny in her bed, like a pile of blankets. Dehydrated, in pain, drugged and unaware. Dying. Really, dying. I wondered how I would feel if I got back to my car to find a message that she had passed away while I had caught waves, surfing? How would I feel about that? I knew then, I would feel fine. She would love to know that I had been happily doing this thing that I love as she slipped away. She’d really love that.

In the coming days, weeks and months I will find solace and calm and love in the salt-water, in the waves. I will remember this too. I will find myself, my heart, my strength, my grief. I will let my tears fall back into themselves, falling along my cheek, onto my chest, legs and board and into the water, washing away. Those tears will take their place in the sea, forever a part of the waves, no matter where I surf. Forever.

34

2011-11-19T15:01:00.000+10:00

Sometimes one year can feel like ten.

Beach babes

2011-11-12T09:38:00.000+10:00

All images via Miss Moss (who lifted them from here). I'm especially obsessed with the first one.

If only..

2011-11-11T07:10:00.000+10:00

This little film, Hey Ho Let's Go Surfing, just made my day.

Thank guys!

Hey Ho Let's Go Surfing from Nathan Oldfield on Vimeo.

'Surf City' - Exhibition at the Museum of Sydney

2011-11-09T11:27:00.005+10:00

The amazing looking exhibition Surf City has just opened at the Museum of Sydney. This exhibition has has been coming together for some time and has seen the curator, Gary Crockett, collaborate with around 40 collectors in and around Sydney. The exhibition is not just about surfing itself, but places it in the context of Sydney as a city, as well as thinking about the social, political and cultural events and changes that were happening along the way. If you find yourself in Sydney between now and March, it looks as though it would be worth a visit. I'll be checking it out this weekend.

For more information, photos, clips and an idea of what it is all about, you can check out the exhibition blog here. From the blog;

Surf City will track Sydney’s dynamic surf scene through the 50s, 60s and 70s: spanning an amazing period of social upheaval, post war optimism, teen angst, rock and roll, prosperity, drugs and shifting cultural frontiers. We'll feature Sydney's surfing hubs, hot spots and cultures along with the movers and shapers who stirred the pot during these vivid and volatile years. We'll also show what surf-crazed Sydneysiders wore, watched, made, rode, heard and read and even reveal how surfing changed Sydney. The exhibition will contain boards, movies, photos, magazines, music, clothes, everyday surf wares and treasures.

Surf film bonanza

2011-10-19T10:19:00.006+10:00

If you're a surfer living in Brisbane - and I am - then this year's Brisbane International Film Festival has a whole category of films called 'Let's Go Surfing'. Including surf films including Crystal Voyager, The Fantastic Plastic Machine and High on a Cool Wave, more recent films like First Love, a retrospective of Albie Thomas, and a series of silent films accompanied by live music, there is a whole range of surf-related films that have been curated for your viewing pleasure.

Seriously, you should check it out - it's pretty amazing!

Maybe I'll see you there...

NO MALS

2011-10-18T08:15:00.001+10:00

This beach-side footpath must have been laid some years ago. The 80s? The 90s?

Either way, the times, they have a-changed and this sentiment would probably no longer be so concretely expressed* in this small coastal town, where mals and a variety of other boards abound.

It gave me an unexpected laugh as I got out of the longboard-laden car though.

NO MALS.

Hahahaa!!!

*Pretty stoked with myself there.

Sunday funday

2011-10-17T08:59:00.004+10:00

This is my new favourite photo.

My niece and nephew love the beach and the sand and the water and the waves. They are used to seeing my boards and always ask me about surfing. My 2 1/2 year old niece will run after me as I walk about the door: Surfing? Surfing?

Yesterday, my sister and I took them to the beach where we grew up. We walked out the back gate of our parents' house and along the scruffy beach-track. The kids fought over who got to carry their surfboard, but feisty little MD won. I didn't realise, but she watched the way I was carrying my mal, and copied me as she followed us along the path.

As soon as we dumped our stuff in the dunes, my nephew ran into the shorebreak and focused on catching the biggest waves! He would wait and wait until one arrived that he thought was big enough and would throw himself into the foaming white-water, flying along until he slid up along the sand and then running straight back out. He was picking them well.

Best Sunday in a long time.

...just for one day

2011-10-11T08:47:00.001+10:00

Looking into a crystal ball

2011-10-09T10:28:00.005+10:00

(I'd credit this image if I could, but it's just one of those wonderful, joyful images that someone sees and says, 'this made me think of you'!)

"Bodies we want" - ESPN annual Body Issue

2011-10-07T11:32:00.010+10:00

So, last year Kelly Slater went au natural for the 'ESPN 2010 Body Issue: Bodies we want'. It's a great image.

Included in ESPN's 'Bodies we want' this year, was Steph Gilmore:

Before you assume what I am thinking, you should know that I reckon both images are beautiful and indeed, on many levels (youthful, ageing, fit, athletic, desirable, healthy, aspirational, sexual) these are certainly bodies to want! I do, for sure.

But, of course, sometimes it is useful and interesting to think beyond the surface, beyond the desire and beauty...

While it is hard to access Kelly's shoot and interview from last year (it seems I have to pay to enter the ESPN archive, which is fine but not today), Steph's interview is up and available for now. You know what else is available? Her body stats (height and weight!) and some comments on which parts of her perfect young body are her favourites. These are the bits where the ESPN thing starts to fall apart for me. And yes, I am also disappointed with the way they shot Stephanie here. She is featured in this issue because of her success and capacity as an athlete. She is an active, powerful, strong and dynamic young woman, who moves through the water with power and speed. Yet despite this, they shoot her lying down on a beach lounger - reclining, still and awaiting something. Kelly's shot is much better - he's running to feature his toned and sinewy frame.

Of course, considering the exposed nature of surfing bodies, these kinds of shoots aren't that out of the blue. I mean, how often are women surfers photographed actually wearing clothes? That is not the problem though. Feeling good in a bikini is fine and should be encouraged and I don't mind admitting that I'm happiest when surfing in as little as possible. The problem is the way this gets turned into something marketable and sexualised. This was my main issue with Nike's all-girl surf film, 'Leave a Message'. The film presented strong and dynamic surfing, while retaining focus on the young women's bikini-clad bodies (in one case, also in thigh high stockings). Sorry, but that's not 'empowering', that's kind of shit. In this photo, Steph's achievements are stripped away and she is laid motionless on the beach. She looks hot, sure. But what's so sporty about that? Naked doesn't have to be soft-porn, people. Compare that to Slater's photo above and maybe you can see what I mean.

And let me make it clear that I'm not indicting Steph Gilmore as having done anything wrong. She has every right to participate in these photoshoots and to feel good about herself and her body. But the way companies and magazines try to sell this kind of thing as 'making the women who take part feel beautiful' wears a bit thin. Stab magazine (Boo! Hiss!) used the same kind of interview technique with Laura Enever when they convinced her to pose as a doe-eyed sex kitten a few issues ago. They asked her questions about whether the shoot had made her feel beautiful and, of course, she said yes. What else was she going to say anyway and would they have printed anything else? Stab made the whole thing seem okay by publicly showing that Enever was complicit and consensual in the process, removing space for claims of them having taken advantage of yet another teenage girl. And yes, this ESPN shoot is entirely different but there is an echo of the same thing in the interview here, for me anyway.

I know this kind of argument and discussion is far from new, and to be honest I'm even a little irritated at myself as I write because I really can't believe we are still having these conversations. But it's hard to ignore that sometimes the more things change, the more they stay the same...

Overhearing the neighbours

2011-09-23T09:25:00.005+10:00

Now that winter is done, everyone in Brisbane is venturing back onto their verandahs of an evening; sitting, reading, eating, drinking, talking with friends. It's lovely. Where I live the blocks of land are big, but they're longer than wide so the houses are close together. It means you hear a lot of conversations, music, tv and other goings on that aren't happening in your house. Mostly, we all pretend not to notice each other, so even when we are all sitting outside and can see each other only metres away, we just mind our own business. Or at least appear to.

Last night I was sitting on our verandah, drinking a beer and working. Next door a couple of women were having a cup of tea, some ciggies and a catch up, gossiping away unselfconsciously about work, parties, friends, guys and hook-ups. Although I wasn't really listening, the conversation drifted across my table and this snippet of conversation caught my attention:

I don't know what I was thinking. He was so gross! I mean, he was a surfer, so there was that. (Cackling laughter from both women) But he was filthy and he stank and his house was disgusting. I would sit on the couch while he played playstation, and it was sticky! And his mates were so irritating and rude. I'd go out with them and they'd just sit and watch the football and completely ignore me. Like, hello! I could be home drinking wine, you know!

Haha! I love that she went out with someone just because 'he was a surfer, you know'. But I also love that, in the end, it wasn't enough. It shouldn't be enough! Sometimes I forget how other people see guys who surf - as mysterious or exciting or hot, or something. Bless. I just see them as guys who surf - not too much mysterious about that to me. I grew up in a town where surfing is central, so I had no illusions about the surfers I went to school with. Not that they were horrible, but they were, well, they were surfers. But for a lot of girls from inland and women from the city, there is something about surfers that really ignites their imagination.

I've noticed this works the other way too. When people I don't know very well find out that I surf, they're interested. They ask questions about it. Unfortunately, I'm about the least mysterious person you could ever meet, so who I am in reality conflicts with their fantasies. That I surf also makes the students I teach think I'm cool... for about 5 minutes! It's amusing how much the idea of me surfing surprises people. I suppose I fail surfing's stereotypical and exciting image;

Rebecca Olive: dork who surfs.

Not that that bothers me in the slightest. To be honest, I'd rather people didn't meet me and assume I surf. I like that it can be my secret.

'Point Break' revamped: 21st century masculinity?

2011-09-22T08:56:00.008+10:00

So, you might have heard that there are plans afoot to remake Point Break*.

According to producer Michael DeLuca, the 1991 film, "wasn't just a film, it was a Zen mediation on testosterone fuelled action and manhood in the later 20th century and we hope to recreate the same!" (exclamation point Michael's own). Except that this time, I'm assuming they hope to create a "Zen mediation on testosterone fuelled action and manhood" in the early 21st century, which could make it an entirely different film.

Either way, I'm not sure about this. I mean I honestly love the original, but mostly for its 90s kitsch and the camp performances of surfer dude-ness and bro love by Patrick Swazye and Keanu Reeves, rather than for any deeper meaning, connection or zen meditation. But could they really still get away with "Surfing is the source. Surfing is the ultimate"? Could anyone honestly take themselves that seriously again? Will the main characters show their diversity and masculine connection to surfing as a soulful pursuit by busting out logs, alaias, handplanes and mats? I hope so. But how would that connect with contemporary "testosterone fuelled action and manhood"? Yeah, I know - it's Hollywood. But still, I love listening to all the hyperbole that surrounds it all.

Oh shit! I just thought... if there is a Bra Boy in it (and you know there will be) I'm going to be pissed. Ugh.

*Note: There are also (apparently) re-makes of Footloose and Dirty Dancing in the works, but how it would be possible to improve on such perfection, I am not sure. Have you seen Footloose? It stars Kevin Bacon and is about him moving to a town where dancing is banned. But he sure shows them (as is evidenced by the excellent and inevitable glitter-filled prom scene). But looking at the 1984 original and based on this scene, perhaps Footloose is a good zen mediation on mid-80s masculinity...

Liquid Light

2011-09-21T08:23:00.005+10:00

I recently wrote these words to appear alongside Joni Sternbach's images from Byron Bay in a gallery for The Anthropologist on Facebook. Check them both out!

Melissa (by Joni Sternbach)

Liquid Light

The Pass is a very particular place. It swells and swirls with adults, children, families, old and young. Locals and tourists sit alongside each other, indistinguishable in their swimmers and boardshorts, lying on their towels. The sweep of beach curves the inside length of the Bay, arcing back in on itself before trailing north again to the town and beyond. The mountains peak and trough in the distance, with evaporating oil rising from the eucalypts turning the landlocked horizon blue, bottle green and purple – that very particular Australian bush palette.

On the sand, warming in the morning summer sun, families have staked their claim. Children run and scream with delight as they play in the shallows, build castles and ride in the foamy waves close to shore. Parents stand guard – arms folded, legs square – or lie on their towels, relishing the summer break. People running, walking, playing, swimming, throwing, catching, talking, yelling, sleeping all the way along the coast as far as sun-filled eyes can see. The Pass is busy and beloved, it seems, by all.

Especially by those who surf. Those with bodies brown and tan, those with sunscreen thick across their cheeks and nose, those with loose, crispy hair. Those who walk across the sand, ignoring adults, children, families, young and old, looking instead to the waves. Those who stand in the wet sand just beyond the lap of the water, stretching their arms and legs, zipping up wetsuits, wrapping leg ropes around their ankles and knees. Those who walk into the water confident and sure of the way the ocean moves and where it will take them. Those who rise to catch waves of water and light, gliding, turning, speeding, dancing, laughing into the distance. Those who fall into the water and come up smiling. Those who ignore the perils of the sun and sea, dedicated to the water and waves.

The sun and sand and water mingle in between my toes. Friends gather around. I laugh and call to people I know as they emerge from the water. I paddle out myself, catching the waves that roll and peel from the headland. My body tingles with joy and the water catches me, passes me along the glassy face of the waves, spinning beneath me in invisible circles, lifting my board my body, my heart. The sunlight shifts, and as I walk back up the beach the sweat drips along my hairline to my jaw and onto the rocks at my feet. I’m smiling.

In amongst all this, in the sand beneath the pandanus palms, is Joni Sternbach - an artist’s tent, a hive of activity and an antique camera lumbered across the beach, rocks, pools of water collecting on the shore. While the children scream, the athletes jog and the surfers dance on water, Joni’s camera catches the space and time and light and bodies of the ocean people with sand on their skin and salt in their hair. In an unexpected way, Joni and her camera create moments of stillness as surfers and ocean lovers stand motionless for her. The time it takes to capture an image is like a held breath... then a slow exhalation and anticipation as the plate is run from the camera to the tent, the result unknown.

The Pass is rarely shot in black and white, its colours too beautiful to ignore. But by centralising the practice of photography, Joni’s collodion process uses liquid and light and time, there on the sand, to reveal the subjects and space in a way invokes dreams and memories, turning familiar faces into questions. For those who have never been there, it highlights the beauty of the place and people in ways that are warm, cold, tonal and stripped back, but which are all contained in the salty bodies captured on the beach. But for the locals – those who know it well - it asks them to think again, and to know The Pass and their place within it, anew.

Jemma (by Joni Sternbach)

Rusty (by Joni Sternbach)

My girliest post ever.

2011-09-15T14:50:00.003+10:00

Over the past few years, I've thought and written a lot about the ways the ocean, sun and surfing mark my body. From the tanlines that map my skin, to the aches and pains of paddling and even down to the sadness I feel at getting back to the city and washing away the ocean from my skin, hair and eyes. I've always loved the salty way my skin and body changes when I'm surfing a lot, and I've come to accept that my eyes turn red and wet, and that my hair is dry and brittle and that my skin gets odd marks. At home these things are normal, but in this city they are strange and difficult for some people to understand.

Now, living a life so far from the ocean, my body has changed again - in ways that make me sad. Sure my eyes are clear and healthy and my skin is an even tone, but my muscles have softened and I'm not nearly as strong as I was a year ago. My hair has lost its salty blonde and the mere sight of a bikini fills my heart with fear. Nay, terror! But I've been trying to look for the positives...

...and I found one. But before I tell you what it is, I feel I need to point out that although this blog is a lot about women and surfing, I tend not to be particularly 'girly'. That's not to say I'm not a keen lover or purveyor of girly-ness, it's just that it's not my universal or abiding preference. However, one (potentially) girly thing I have noticed is that as a consequence of not surfing much lately my fingernails are really strong and pretty. When I surf a lot they get ragged and split, but at the moment they're lovely and shiny. As an added bonus, I can paint them 'Bubble Bath' or 'Blue Satin' or 'Vamp' or 'Candy Cane' and it stays on and isn't chipped or peeling within a day.

(Note: colour is 'Bubble Bath')

So there you have it. My ocean-free consolation prize: strong, pretty fingernails.

(And yet, oh! How I wish they were ragged and chipped!)

White Wash

2011-09-09T10:20:00.007+10:00

Yes. YES! This new film, White Wash, looks great. It's opening in the USA this month - go see it!

From the White Wash website:

White Wash, the documentary, is a film exploring the complexity of race in America through the eyes of the ocean. Examining the history of “black consciousness” as it triumphs and evolves into the minds of black surfers, we learn the power of transcending race as a constructive phenomenon. The story is narrated by the legendary, Grammy Award winner Ben Harper (Fistful of Mercy, Relentless 7, Ben Harper and the Innocent Criminals) along with Tariq “Blackthought” Trotter of the Grammy Award winning hip hop group, The Roots whom also originally scored the film.

Just keep swimming, just keep swimming...

2011-09-08T13:25:00.003+10:00

Recently, a very wise friend of mine has been imparting advice from an unexpected and amusing source: via scenes from the animated film, Finding Nemo. While usually this would concern me, coming from her it's hilarious, thoughtful and well-timed. So this post and this song (which has been stuck in my head for a week now) is dedicated to the truly wonderful, Rebecca Vonhoff. You're a doll xx

Keala Kennelly is hardcore: NOW do you believe it?

2011-09-06T14:38:00.009+10:00

Often, when people talk about women's big wave surfing, they talk about it as though it's somehow 'lesser' than what the guys do or as though women don't go as 'hard'. While I'm not going to go into why that's a redundant and ridiculous argument (I've talked about it previously anyway), I am interested in a couple of images of Keala Kennelly circulating at the moment, and what their affect might be on this way of thinking.

First is this wipeout of hers at Teahupo'o during the now infamous two-in session there at the end of August;

Heavy.

But also, here is an image of her one of the waves that she made;

Also heavy. And finally, this image of an injury she got shortly after;

Again, heavy.

Seeing Keala Kennelly's horrifying injury made me think about how this photo, it's timing and connection with the recent focus on Teahupo'o and the wide-ranging distribution this image is getting, might affect the way we thing about the women who surf these waves - or Keala Kennelly at least. I wonder whether this image of Keala's very real reef encounter in connection with her very real and incredible surfing at Teahupo'o might be significant in shifting those kinds of perceptions. Kind of like evidence that women go hard. As though injuries like this one are the gold-standard against which commitment and courage must be measured.

I think these recent images and the profile they got because of the comp there will certainly cement Kennelly's reputation as a dedicated and crazy heavy wave surfer. I wonder how this reputation might play out for other women, or how we think about other women who surf similar waves. I will admit I was pretty irritated that in an interview at the comp, Kelly Slater singled out Maya Gabeira as being 'out of her depth'. I mean it probably was a fair call but there were plenty of guys who were probably much further out of their depth than she was. Anyway...

Maybe there will be some slight shift, maybe there won't. But it's pretty hard to ignore that Keala Kennelly is one awesome (and insane!) woman.

Lady logging

2011-09-05T18:08:00.005+10:00

And I love, love, love this section from 'Sprout' by Thomas Campbell!

(Thanks for reminding me of it Mar Lake)

Lapsed Catholics

2011-09-03T07:59:00.006+10:00

I've mentioned this film by Toddy before, but I never actually got around to posting it.

I think about the ideas and feeling of this film quite often, and how commitments, connections, relationships, time can lapse without you even noticing it. How things shift so slowly that they escape attention until they've changed so significantly that you don't really know if you can ever go back. Of course, you can't. You can only move along and in other directions, and maybe those things will be a part of where you're headed. Or maybe they're finished, relegated to be an inescapable part of who you will be and become - a memory, regret or yearning.

Melancholy? Perhaps. But beautiful with it.

Enjoy!

The Surf Magazines Don't Talk About Lapsed Catholics from Todd Stewart on Vimeo.

Cornish summer

2011-09-02T07:37:00.007+10:00

Years ago, I spent a northern summer living in Mawgan Porth in Cornwall. It was lovely. I lived at a surf school, right on the beach, where I spent a fair bit of time. In the days I was working long, long hours at a cafe, but in the evenings I would take walks along the cliffs to watch the sun set into the ocean, which is still a thrill for an east coast Australian person.

The culture of the seaside holiday crowd is very different to beach culture in Australia. People bring more stuff for starters. They are armed with buckets, spades, balls, bats, hats, sunscreen, boogie-boards, picnics, clothes, rain-gear, multi-coloured plastic wind-blocks and chairs, while ice-creams, chips and tea are always for sale close by. When the holidays first began, I was amazed by how many people could fit on one beach - especially since they had so much stuff with them. And they were all there through sunshine, rain and fog! At first, I didn't understand it at all, but after a while I felt a great affection for it.

Recently I discovered Sue's watercolours through her blog, Studio Window, and seeing them brought my Cornish summer rushing back. Her images are straight from the sand, capturing the everyday ways that all kinds of people use the beach, the coast, the sea. Far from young and athletic, many of her coastal images are of families, older women or children, all off to play in the foamy shore-break or sitting in a chair on the sand, enjoying the seaside.

But once the summer crowd disperses, many of the businesses pack up until the next holiday or the next year. These villages and towns often seasonal places, so there is a distinct difference between the tourists and holiday-makers and the people who live there year round. Like the coastal town where I am from, you discover that the locals use the beach very differently: for walks, for collecting shells, for romance, for losing themselves, for bracing swims, for surfing.

My favourite of Sue's pictures capture these people and these moments - drying off and getting changed at the back of a car or sitting wrapped in a towel in the sun post-surf, watching the waves and avoiding peeling off the rest of your wetsuit.

I love these two images most of all. I love that they are so candid and quiet and personal. I love that, even though they're thousands of miles from me and my world, I can see myself in both of them. They make me miss the beach. They make me miss surfing.

You should check out Sue's blog. She makes some wonderful art. Not just watercolours either...

Glass Beach

2011-08-31T13:37:00.006+10:00

My friend sent me this link from Colossal in an email the other day, and I sincerely don't know what to make of it.

Photo from digggs

Photo from Matthew High

Photo via Megan
Beginning in 1949, the area around Glass Beach became a public dump. It is hard to imagine this happening today, but back then people dumped all kinds of refuse straight into the ocean, including old cars, and their household garbage, which of course included lots of glass.
By the early sixties, some attempts were made to control what was dumped, and dumping of any toxic items was banned. Finally in 1967, the North Coast Water Quality Board realized what a mistake it was and plans were begun for a new dump away from the ocean.
Now, over 30 years later, Mother Nature has reclaimed this beach. Years of pounding wave action have deposited tons of polished glass onto the beach. You'll still see the occasional reminder of it earlier life, such as a rusted spark plug, but for the most part what you'll see is millions of pieces of glass sparkling in the sun. (As part of MacKerricher State Park, collecting is no longer allowed).
Glass Beach also has a very interesting array of tide pools to explore. Crabs, mollusks, and many aquatic plants make their homes in these ever changing environments. It is very easy to spend your whole day poking around the tide pools and watching the busy little worlds that go on inside each one.

Obviously I'm amazed by this place, Glass Beach - it's beautiful! But at the same time, the back story is so horrifying, and the lovely, soft, worn glass fragments become slightly melancholy.

Arc: Lines of Flight

2011-08-29T08:08:00.004+10:00

(Inspired by Brine Time)

'Lines of Flight'

Despite our feelings

and our needs,

the way of things

never really flows

in one direction.

They arc

north and south,

bending and curving

in on themselves.

(In)consistent,

twisting,

bent,

warped,

clean,

curved,

divine.

Time and light

have

smooth curves

and

clean lines of flight,

into the unknown.

We mould these

curves and lines

into our lives:

aesthetic,

moving.

They hold us still and shift us

through the world,

earthly and oceanic.

The way of things

never really flows

in one direction.

Teahupo'o

2011-08-27T16:34:00.010+10:00

(Images from ASP via Swellnet)

A confession.

On no level do I get the surfing at Teahupo'o that I have been watching today. I mean, it's totally spectacular and entertaining, but in terms of it making any kind of sense or being an experience or even a concept that I can relate to in an at all realistic or rational way... I draw a blank.

So even though I am enjoying sitting open-mouthed as I watch these people take off on such crazy mountains of water, there is a massive bit of my rational mind that asks, 'Why? WHY?' Because I'd like to say that I find them courageous, but then I wonder if it's not just blind stupidity!

Having said that, I am endlessly amused to read various blogs where commenters ridicule those who pull back from taking off on waves that would most likely have munched them into the reef. I mean, it's a pretty rich call to make from the safety of your own couch, huh.

Anyway, I don't usually get into surf comps, but this one has been pretty compelling. I mean, wowsers!

Mariachi El Bronx

2011-08-25T08:16:00.003+10:00

When punk goes mariachi...

Of course, I can't really post anything mariachi-related without also posting this clip now, can I!

4-6' and clean

2011-08-23T15:17:00.004+10:00

Sunday afternoon at my bus stop, conditions were almost perfect....

If only it was water!

She goes alright...

2011-08-19T11:49:00.004+10:00

I could never tire of watching Isabelle Braly surf.

This gorgeous photo is from Nathan Oldfield's lovely blog, Look&Sea.

El Mar, Mi Alma

2011-08-18T14:44:00.003+10:00

I don't know much about this film, El Mar, Mi Alma. But going by this clip I am looking forward to finding out more. Whatever the case, I won't have to wait long...

'El Mar, Mi Alma', coming soon.

El Mar, Mi Alma - film preview from Rebel Waltz Films on Vimeo.

...and the afternoon

2011-08-16T18:27:00.006+10:00

...that ended with family.

This morning

2011-08-16T07:44:00.007+10:00

An early start today...

Walk, skate, roll to the city (or Toowong).

2011-08-13T12:27:00.008+10:00

I came across this sign as I was walking to the markets in West End this morning. It's directing non-motorised, non-cycling traffic along the river around some post-floods works. The cycle/footpath along the river got pretty decimated during all of that, so they're taking the opportunity to make some sections a bit more user friendly. I walk past it all the time, so I'm not sure why I haven't noticed it before - I've never seen another one like it.

They're three such disconnected graphics though. Almost like they're from different decades of design - 60s, 80s, 90s is my guess. How great is the little skater. Looks like she's mid-flight, or about the launch off some stairs or something!

Yeah Brisbane.

Do women surf much?

2011-08-09T12:34:00.006+10:00

Because I know so little about it (i.e. nothing at all) this surfing stuff fascinates me… Excuse my naïve question, but do women surf much? Is it a male-dominated thing?

This comment appeared at the bottom of one of petebowes’ beautifully written and amusing posts the other day, and I can’t really figure out whether I’m shocked, upset or kind of flattered by this question. I can’t figure out whether it’s an indictment on the ways that women are almost invisible in representations of surfing both in Australia and beyond, whether I’m sad because apparently so few women surf that they escape the notice not only of surfing culture but also of Australian beach-goers, or whether this is evidence that women are the new counter-culture of surfing: edgy, underground and unknown.

What I do know is, and what I like to say in response is that yes, women surf much. Also, yes, surfing is male-dominated, but that despite this women are a vibrant, enthusiastic and dedicated membership of surfing contributing along with the guys to the ways it is growing, developing and changing into the 21st century.

The short answer: women surf.

More books less bombs.

2011-08-07T14:03:00.010+10:00

Another piece of art that is not only thoughtful and gently political, but is beautiful as well.

(By johnny& stacie, but via design is mine).

In four beautifully typeset words, johnny&stacie capture so much of what is central within my own politics and aspirations. Historically books have been burned, outlawed, banned as political, threatening and shocking. They are difficult to produce, but are easy to literally and symbolically destroy.

For me, this statement - more books less bombs - is not necessarily about school or schooling, but is about education and broad thinking. What is particularly clever about the term 'books' here is that books today are about more than words on a page, but can be visual, colourful, artistic, aural and tactile. They can be hard-copy of course, but are also growing as an online, electronic resource too, which is allowing the growth of whole new multi-media options and imaginations. In this way, books evolve as educational, pleasurable and political resources as their boundaries and edges get blurred.

I love books. And I love this poster.

Surf film stoke!

2011-08-01T13:05:00.010+10:00

This weekend, I decided to take it a bit easy. I only worked a little and the work I did, I did from home. I drank a lot of wine and coffee, sat in the sun, met friends at the markets and picked up a dress I had on lay-by. It was wonderful. At one stage, I even found myself with a little extra time on my hands, so I pulled out my copy of Dear & Yonder and watched it, and realised that I'd forgotten how much surf films can be!

I forgot how much pleasure there is to be derived from watching footage of waves and boards and bodies and fun and colour and light and surfing. I'd forgotten how the feelings and memories and longing that this can all bring to the surface. I'd forgotten how nice it is see great footage of great surfing. Before I realised it, I'd sat through the whole thing!

So I'm back to being stoked on surf films (again).

And then I saw Clif's post over on Kurungabaa about a new film called Thirty Thousand: A surfing odyssey from Casablanca to Cape Town, so I bought it.

And then I saw that Lorene Carpentier's film, Oceanides, has finally been released! I have been particularly excited about this film, so I bought that too!

And now not only do I have two new films on the ways, but I can look forward to things other than bills in the mail!

Then today, over at Ten Piggies Over, I came across this fun looking film...

Be Cool Man Trailer from Captain Fin Co on Vimeo.

Apparently, when it rains (surf films) it pours!

Sunday morning coffee surf

2011-07-31T11:17:00.005+10:00

My favourite things begin to meld into each other...

Hypothetical

2011-07-27T14:43:00.011+10:00

I had a day-dream recently. I was walking home along the river when an image, an event, filled my thoughts. It wasn’t a memory, more like a hypothetical…

I was in my wetsuit, board under my arm, running down to the water. I could see the waves, long and perfectly formed, and was excited to get out there. I hurried down the shore and just as I felt the wet sand sink beneath my feet and the water wash around my ankles… I tripped on my leggie.

One minute, I was running and smiling and excited, the next I was face down with a mouth full of sand and humiliation. The legrope was twirled around my ankles, stringing them together, binding me. My board was caught under my arm, the pressure pressing back on both my board and my shoulder. Creased? I tried to shift my arm. My hair was plastered across my eyes, there was a dull ache in my lower back. The water washed under me, filling my face with sand, sucking at my body.

I lay there, still. Ashamed. Numb. All the excitement vanished. I knew the waves were still there, the same long peelers running along the beach. I knew if I got up, I could get out there and catch them. But, well, could I? What would happen? The break was busy, so if I got up again and paddled out, what would happen? What would be said, or not said? Was I up for swallowing the remnants of my pride and laughing at myself? Or would I detach myself from my board and return to the safety of my car? Would I cry? Options, options.

With the shame rising in my chest, I lay there, thinking, the wash filling my mouth, nose and eyes with sand…

And then I was back, back by the river in the city. Dry and walking and listening to some kind of fluffy late-afternoon pop. The sun was setting and the light was soft. No damage done. I've never tripped over my legrope (yet!). I make sure to catch it in my fingers underneath my longboard when I pick it up, and it makes a difference when it's attached at your knee, rather than your ankle.

But if I had been lying on the beach, on the sand, in the wash, fallen over, I knew what I would do. I would get up and I would try to push aside the awful shame and humiliation and I would laugh at myself and I would paddle out and I would see...

'MERZ' exhibition opening tomorrow night

2011-07-13T00:35:00.001+10:00

Featuring Jeff Raglus, Ben Waters, Gerry Wedd and Chris De Rosa.

This is opening at the Nine Lives Gallery tomorrow night. If you're keen, you can RSVP on their Facebook page.

I am so there!

Trickhouse.org

2011-07-12T12:10:00.007+10:00

I'm really stoked to have just collaborated with Joni Sternbach on a submission for the online art journal, Trickhouse.

As you know, I am a massive fan of Joni's images, so to be invited to work with her was a real pleasure and something I'm quite proud of.

Anyway, you can check out Joni's photos and my essay, 'Across The Water', here at Trickhouse.

Submerged

2011-07-02T08:32:00.002+10:00

This morning I was drowning.

After my alarm woke me I had hit it off, rolled over and briefly fallen back asleep. According to my clock, it was only for ten minutes, but in that small amount of time I was suddenly under water, under waves, held below, straining for air. Lost between sleeping, waking and surfing.

Somewhere, I knew I was dreaming. But I was mixed and confused and refusing to let go of it all. Somewhere, I was calming myself;

Just. Breathe. In.

But my dreaming mind and body was under water and flailing.

I never caught a wave, I never fell, but was simply under. The water was clear and white and fizzing around me. I was waiting for the pull of a leash on my leg, but it never came. I was waiting to hit the bottom to recoil and push towards the surface, but I never reached it. I was fighting against water that provided no resistance, no potential for power. In that irritating way of dreams, I was both doing and watching, drowning and observing, sinking and floating. I felt the water warm and swirling on my skin, against my muscles, painting oceanic stories with my limbs. My knee hit my jaw, my arm scraped a rock, and then, I was simply suspended, panic rising in my chest as my lungs emptied and began to feel as though they were becoming a vacuum of themselves. The water continued to thrash and spin around me, but I was still. Echoes of rational thought creeping in – You’re only dreaming. Breathe in, breathe in! But I didn’t, I couldn’t. I wanted to be under water, I wanted to be submerged and spinning and straining and still. I wanted my lungs to empty, to burn. I yearned for the panic to rise in my chest, to sink, helpless, into darkness and cold. I looked for shapes above me – waves, bodies, boards, light – but there were none. There was only what was beneath.

It was a dream. I knew it was a dream. Somewhere. I knew I could wake up, I would wake up. But then my chest was tighter, and tighter, I was fighting the drift into the depths. Breathe, breathe! But I was still under water. Breathe! But my lungs will flood, I’ll be dead!Breathe, you must breathe in! My still-dreaming body would not respond, sucked under, held below.

And I woke, gasping and retching. I can’t remember if I sat quickly upright and clutched at my chest, or if my mind followed my panicked inhalations more slowly, easing itself dry, but I remember the white clouds of pillows, sheets and quilts surrounding me, wrapping me, holding me safe and warm in my bed. I remember wanting to lean over and cough watery vomit into the mug on the table beside me. I remember panting and catching my breath. I remember hearing the rain outside and I know I sat still and silent for some time after regaining consciousness. I don’t know in what order or whether this all happened, but these are my memories of waking.

Even now, in the retelling, I barely remember any of that, but I can still feel in my chest and my stomach, echoes of the panic and vacuum and burn that consumed me as I drifted in and out of consciousness. I can still see myself motionless and suspended in the water; a collage of bubbling white momentum and clear blue glass. But I wonder… I wonder if I was safely breathing the whole time, cosy in bed with winter rain falling outside? I wonder if I was panting, if I was gasping and flailing in amongst the sheets and pillows? I wonder if, perhaps, I was still and submerged, slowly drowning in my dreams, in my memories, fears and futures? Drowning in those briefly stolen moments between sleep and waking?

Lines to the horizon...

2011-06-16T15:03:00.002+10:00

Old mal, head-dip

2011-06-03T09:30:00.002+10:00

Isaac Fields rips on an old mal.

Pic by Moonwalker, stolen from the Pacific Longboarder

site.

Last year he won a 'move of the day' prize at the Noosa Festival for, what the certificate termed, an 'old mal, "air drop, floater"'.

He seriously loves riding these tricky boards, and does so with an enthusiasm that is reflected in his always broad smile. Sometimes I get to go surfing with him, and he is always having a great time, always stoked. (He also loves double-ups, Evans Head and food.)

Longboard Girls Crew

2011-06-01T15:25:00.005+10:00

I just found this clip about the Longboard Girls Crew by Juan Rayos, over on The Endless Bummer (who found it elsewhere) and it absolutely, 100% made my day!

Carving the Mountains from Juan Rayos on Vimeo.

I don't know much about these women, but I'm looking forward to spending some time on their website to find out more about them.

So great!

Surfing, art and artefacts: asking coastal questions

2011-05-29T11:07:00.024+10:00

Over the past few years, I have attended a lot of ‘surf art’ openings and exhibitions. A lot. Mostly they’re quite lovely and colourful and, well, surfy, but mostly I also walk away and don’t much think about them again. I don’t mean to say they’re not good, because they are and people are doing all sorts of awesome things using images of waves, boards, bodies, colours, clouds and the beach, but while they might make me smile or feel good,I suppose they never really teach me much, or make me ask questions. And that’s not a criticism so much as an observation, because making beautiful images, films and objects for their own sake is wonderful and I don’t necessarily want anyone to stop. But there are a growing number of surfy artists I have come to love, whose work is not ‘surf art’, but rather is ‘art about surfing’. The difference is that their work is more than textual, more than art for beauty’s sake, and engages in cultural questions and ugliness and critique.

This ‘art about surfing’ is subversive and disruptive. It is more complex and rich and critical than surf industry art. It asks questions and highlights contradictions and takes nothing for granted and tricks us into thinking and discomfort. It makes our ugliness beautifully and aesthetically visible and available. It draws us in, enthralls us and then gets under our skin. It is political, ethical, sad and beautiful.

And it should be. It should make us ask questions. It should cause discomfort. It should say something new, show us something new.

Last night I had the pleasure of attending the Gold Coast City Gallery for the opening night of Gerry Wedd, Vernon Ah Kee, Michael Aird and Peter Walker’s collective exhibition*. Some of these names and works are very familiar to me – you will have heard me talk about Gerry Wedd’s gorgeous ceramics on here multiple times before, and I have read about and seen images of Vernon Ah Kee’s variously decorated, waterlogged and political boards and films from the Venice Biennale in 2009 – so I was stoked to have the opportunity to hear them both speak (and Michael Aird) and to take a look at their latest works**. Unfortunately as I was fanging down the highway I had the unfortunate interruption of a flat tyre and so missed the first talks, but made it just in time to catch Gerry Wedd. Phew! As I breathlessly entered the gallery, I was greeted by a forest of beautiful, glossy, muted wooden boards, with a backdrop of blue and white ceramic works – urns, plates, tiles and cheeky thongs. The crowd sat amongst the boards applauding Michael Aird as he took his seat and Gerry as he stood.

Gerry Wedd's ceramics are a revelation.

When you first chance upon them, they are a delight and a surprise, so to have the chance to hear him speak more about them was a treat. And I was stoked to hear what Gerry had to say. He talked about how he discovered surfing magazines through his sister, and ceramics through his mother. His love for surfing culture is his own, but his understandings of it, and the ways he expresses these came from his family, giving it a level of intimacy I hadn’t seen before.

He explained the ways he uses urns as a reference to our knowledges of the past, of history, and to what his art will itself eventually become - artefacts. He takes the shapes and styles of our human predecessors, creating objects that echo a past which we know and assume, using them to tell new stories of humanity, sport, travel and the ocean. He uses these historical tools to re-shape our cultural history of surfing, of being Australian. Through his ceramics, Wedd is creating an archive of alternative ways of knowing surfing and surfing histories, cultures and identities. His ceramics - his artefacts - add to what we know about surfing, but more importantly, they add to what is possible for us to know.

Gerry's urns, tiles, thongs, cups and plates bring new names and faces and stories into our homes and everyday. They hang on our walls and act as vessels for our tea. They are stories that we cannot escape as they quietly become a part of our homes. They are beautiful when displayed in a gallery en masse, but I can tell you from personal experience, that they are even more wonderful when they sit in your kitchen cupboard and on your beside table each morning, full of warm morning tea, telling stories throughout your everyday.

But Gerry Wedd is not alone.

Vernon Ah-Kee’s recent works re-colour and redraw other kinds of known objects and artefacts: surfboards. He questions our preferred Australian understandings of the coast as a place for leisure and fun, and instead discusses the beach as a battlefield and a site of ongoing and explicit racism. The images, colours and patterns of his boards, and of the connected films raise the spectre of the European invasion and subsequent settlement of Australia, as well as more recent coastal clashes such as the so-called ‘Cronulla Riots’ in 2004.

Ah Kee’s boards (shaped at Diverse Surf on the Gold Coast) are painted with bright colours on the deck, and gently drawn with portraits of men from his family, charcoaled in underneath.When hung, from one angle his boards compose a tableau of faces and family, soft in form, and from another angle are an earthy composition of colours and patterns connected to his country and place. But for me, what makes them come alive is the way they are dinged and waxed and ridden, with traces of sand, salt and water lodged in the wax and the resin cracks. For the surfers there, this meant something, it made the boards make more sense that those which are made to be hung on a wall, denied the function of their design. I heard one group of guys imagine how cool it would be to know you were the one who had ridden that board; like a secret piece of connection and knowledge to the art.

In a lovely connection, Ah Kee’s work is placed beside and connected to the films of Michael Aird. These films are different to Ah Kee’s coastal questions of culture, race and belonging, and instead are about those moments which are quiet and mundane: stories of everyday living on the coast, about being from and of the coast. Michael Aird tells us stories of his country and history, about the connections to place and family he feels as he boats on the river, reels in a fish, pulls up a crabpot. His films and photos are an attempt to record these moments as significant and to show the personal and cultural power of the everyday. As Michael says in his exhibition catalogue;

For many years I have been conscious of the types of images that are often missing from the photographic record. Most photographs are of people posing for special events, or maybe just simply people when they were together and want to remember that occasion. So looking back at most people’s photo albums, you may not see too many images of people doing what they normally do on an ordinary day in their lives. Simple things like sitting around a campfire or walking through a mangrove mudflat or a shallow creek at low tide, to me are all worthy of being photographed.

The works of all three of these artists, while very different in terms of form and motivation, are linked by engaging with the coast beyond a broad Australian preference for romaticising our relationships to it. Each of these artists is clearly and deeply connected to the coast and the water in intimately personal ways, but each is willing to question the complexities of these connections and their (and our) place within them.

Michael Aird’s films show that the coast is a place filled with mundane moments, but highlights that these are perhaps more significant than the ways we have celebrated them in the past. It is a place of family, home and history, which is both beautiful and troubled. Vernon Ah Kee’s boards, like Gerry Wedd's ceramics, are functional, thoughtful pieces that are more than textual, more than surf. They produce stories and ghosts that are both real and imagined, known and unexpected, familiar and strange, but which make an odd kind of sense. Their objects are not structured or wordy, but are visual, physical, objectified and cultural. They manifest something in my mind and heart and body: responses that I'm not quite sure about yet, but which are something akin to stoke. They make me think. They make me uncomfortable. They make me want to go surfing.

*This exhibition and the associated works connect to an admirable focus by the Gold Coast City Gallery on collecting works which are relevant in relation both to the Gold Coast and the the coast more broadly, establishing their place as relevant to the community they are such an important part of.

**Peter Walker’s public talk about his beautiful wooden boards will be on July 9^th. See you there!

Kurungabaa - new issue is out!

2011-05-17T17:55:00.006+10:00

New issue is back from the printers and ready for you to enjoy!

Independently written, proofed and published for the love of it, go here to get your hands on a copy.

You know you want to.

If only (x2)

2011-05-02T13:02:00.002+10:00

Heavy Heart

2011-04-25T15:37:00.005+10:00

My friend Laura sent me this song today. She first played it to me years ago, when we were both living in Sydney. It's by New York musician, Jeffrey Lewis, who writes some crazy stuff, but this song is really lovely. I think of it when I am blue or when things seem too much, and remember how lucky I am to have friends like Laura, who already know that I am going to be fine.

Ignore the visuals - it's the lyrics that are the thing.

Vocabulary

2011-04-23T15:48:00.007+10:00

Word of my week (courtesy of Jen)

Defenestrate
[dee-fen-uh-streyt]
-Verb (used with object)
to throw (a person or thing) out of a windowng) out of a window.
Let's try it in some sentences;

Stop speaking to me like that or I will defenestrate you.

If this computer doesn't stop playing up, it's going to get defenestrated.

I love the episode of The Office, where Tim defenestrates Gareth's stapler. It's so funny!

Skateboarding and the city (after the earthquake)

2011-04-17T11:57:00.014+10:00

(The beginnings of this discussion were taken from an old post over at Kurungabaa)

I spend the bulk of my time on the coast surrounded by (or at least, with easy access to) the ocean, sand, sun, clouds, storms, tides, experiences and rhythms that make me feel at home. That make me feel like I belong. I can move with and through them in ways that make sense. As a child, in fact up until I was 19, I rarely left the coast, and when I did it was to go to other spaces that were defined by mountains, meadows, forests and wilderness. Eventually, I made my way to The City, a world that took me some time to find my feet in.

But now I love it.

When I visit cities I feel at home. I know how to walk in ways that get me around and move me along and allow me to negotiate the buildings, cars, people and general busyness. I know how to duck and weave and wend and wheel, avoid, obstruct and slip in-between. I have found ways to discover and understand cities by getting about on foot and by using my senses and intuition to make the place fit me. I know how to do this. And I like it. But I can only do it on foot.

Not like this dude, Soy Panday.

I love how he can flow and move with the city, not just negotiate his way around it. His movements become a part of the landscape and architecture and fabric of the place – not just another person on foot, like me!

The way he moves… it’s something to do with self-assurance and a lack of hesitation. It’s something to do with knowledge, experience, experiment and an inherent sense of confidence. It’s something to do with his perspective, the ways he knows, understands and sees the city and its possibilities.

Because cities aren’t one thing. Dense and complex and beyond definition, they’re individual, potential, interpretive, dynamic and changing. As I explore and discover cities I get to know them as my own. I map them out in my head and with my feet. I know them by train lines, bus routes, buildings, museums, bars, cafes, houses, streets, parks, beaches… the place where I lie with my eyes closed in the sun, the places where I walk with my keys stucking out from between the knuckles of my clenched fists.

But I can’t draw these maps the ways that Soy Panday can. I can’t draw such beautiful lines across the asphalt surface. I really wish I could. But if you know me then you will know how hurt I can get simply by leaving the house, so skating is a no-go zone for me.

Of course, unlike the sandy shores I grew up on, these imaginary metropolitan maps seem pretty stable - tides and shifting sands are engineered out of the day-to-day equation. But that's not necessarily true. Cities are temporal and fragile places too, as has been evidenced by recent earthquakes in both New Zealand and Japan. Cities can change, and so must the ways we understand, know and have relationships to them.

My friend, Holly Thorpe, recently showed me this clip of crew skating in Christchurch after the quake there, which is what got me thinking about all of this.

More Skateboarding Videos

Their movements in and through the city re-imagine it, learning it anew, and creating new ways of knowing the streets, parks, footpaths and steps. Their explorations and innovations are inspiring, shared and physical performances, which also seem like a lot of fun. Looking at the city as they make it into a space of play feels a bit odd at first, but the new undulations, cracks, fissures and collapses are highlighted by their movements through and across the city, illustrating the geographical changes in a way that makes more sense than looking at it all from behind televised police-tape. Through their skating, these guys already have a practised confidence about such geographies, which makes the changes in landscape seem somehow familiar - not in a way that trivialises the human impacts of the earthquake, but which makes the destruction of the city seem more like change, and less like something completely insurmountable. Their skating, perhaps, gives the shattered city-scape new life.

Girl surf.

2011-04-15T14:04:00.008+10:00

I was sent this link in an email the other day (thanks Ben!)

I'm never sure whether to pop these things up, because I try not to support industry stuff too much, but the way this is put together is pretty cool. It's dynamic and interesting and really highlights the surfing over, well, you know. I mean there's still lots of bikinis etc and as you can imagine, there is a lot more I could say, but I kind of have something percolating, so I might wait and see if I get time to think it through properly. For now, see what you reckon...

Leave A Message Trailer from Nike 6.0 on Vimeo.

Autumn gold

2011-04-14T20:29:00.004+10:00

Photo via inbyronbaytoday.com

Dance!

2011-04-07T10:55:00.003+10:00

A post dedicated to my sister, Linda Maree Olive.

Notes:
1. At a party, this song is almost guaranteed to get people ripping on the dance floor.
2. This clip always makes me think of my sister, hence the dedication.
3. This is a pretty complete catalogue of my dance-move repertoire.

Shower Rage

2011-04-05T18:10:00.008+10:00

Lauren and I walked up the wooden stairs from the beach towards the shower. We'd just met in the surf - bonding over each others' boards and the common experience of being one of the only girls out on such a pretty day of surf. We'd started talking and quickly realised we had a lot of interests in common - I'd read some of her papers and had already blogged about one of her film projects called '31 days/31 ways' - so we thought we'd head in for a coffee and a good chat.

How awesome is meeting someone new in the surf, by the way!

Anyway, we walked up the stairs to the shower, chatting away excitedly about surfing, women, the ocean, uni, talking about how sometimes it can be hard being the only chick in the water, or one of only a few. We talked about how much we love surfing in this area, where there are a lot more women and girls than other places. We de-briefed on the crazy lineup that day and I told Lauren how I'd seen a guy shout at some learner who accidentally dropped in on him when he got caught up in the whitewash, and then surf right over him and his board. The violence of the man's response had seemed completely unnecessary given the chaotic nature of the busy break we were at at and the mellow-ness of the waves.

As we reached the showers, we split and stood either side of the concrete column. There was a guy crouched down in the bushes next to me (which I thought was weird) and as I turned on the water, he stood and blurted out,

Don't hit me with your board.

His words were blunt and accusatory. I turned around, expecting to see him smiling, making a joke, but he wasn't. He was scowling at me. I was confused and looked over at Lauren, who seemed to be confused too.

It's alright, I saw you there. I wasn't going to hit you.

He scowled at me and turned to face us,

Women have been running into me all my life. Hitting me with longboards, with trolleys, with cars...

His strange words were almost spat out. I looked back at Lauren whose face was incredulous - we were both thinking about our conversation a few minutes earlier. I laughed,

Well, I keep seeing people getting hit by guys on shortboards, so I don't think you need to feel targeted. Guys can be just as bad.

But he was fired up. I don't know why, and I don't know what his point was supposed to be. Lauren and I looked at each other again, bemused this time. It can't just have been us, something else must have happened to him that day.

Well what do you want men to do? Walk around in dresses?

He was almost visibly puffing up, pushing out his chest and stepping towards us, making no sense. In a different context, I might have felt frightened, but here and now, his behaviour was just odd. I was tempted to look around me to see if someone was filming this ridiculous exchange for Candid Camera or something -I was almost convinced it had to be a joke. I told Lauren I'd meet her in 10 minutes, and walked away, laughing, which I knew would wound his ego even more, but I just didn't know what else to do. As I departed I could hear him calling after me, carrying on but I didn't look back. Insane!

A few minutes later, I met Lauren at the cafe. She looked at me as I sat down,

Can you believe that guy? And just after that conversation too. He kept going after you left. He was crazy!

We talked about how strange it was, how aggressive the guy was and how interesting that it came right after our conversations about such behaviour. We laughed about it and decided we would both write about the incident, post on our respective blogs and link to each other, so make sure you check out her blog over at the gorgeous, Merseabeaucoup.

Lauren, it was SO great to meet you. Let's catch up again soon!

"She broke my surfboard!"

2011-04-03T16:00:00.001+10:00

Sitting on the inside: stories from a slow learner

2011-03-30T10:30:00.008+10:00

I haven’t been writing much lately. The thing is that every time I go to write, it feels like I am simply writing the same story over and over again. I feel like all that each tale achieves is to reveal what a slow learner I am and lets you all see more than you should. Are stories supposed to be that selfish? To be honest I’ve lost perspective on what I have and haven’t said, but this one has been sitting inside my chest for a couple of weeks now, so I suppose I might as well let it out…

*****

A few weeks ago, I went for a surf. It was my first time on a board in over 2 months. Exciting.

I decided to paddle out at my love, The Pass. Conditions were pretty wonderful - the sky was clear and blue, the water was warm, there were peelers galore and it wasn’t too busy. I wasn’t looking for much anyway. I intended to sit wide and get waves further along. I just wanted to catch some waves and spend some time in my body, not my thoughts. I wanted to feel all the things you feel when you’re in the water – the rhythms, the temperatures, the water, the salt, the joy, the calm. I wanted to sit wide so I could focus on these things, and not the hassling for waves that is so common off the rocks.

As I walked down to the water I saw my friend, Jules. I called out and ran over to her, hugging her as we stood knee-deep in the water, rubbing the sunscreen from our hands with wet sand we scooped from beneath the surface. Jules is a dear friend of mine. She loves The Pass even more than I do, and you can guarantee you will find her there on her days off, surfing all day. Her approach to surfing and to life is generous, kind and full of integrity. I have known her since I was a child and she is someone I look up to as a surfer, a woman, and as a human being.

We paddled out together but after a few waves we ended up in different parts of the break. You know how it goes. And anyway, even within that crowd, I needed to surf on my own.

But it went to shit. Even before paddling out I was irritated, confused and frustrated, so those feelings were always going to transfer themselves into my surfing. I’d deluded myself that surfing would provide me escape from my thoughts, but it only served to help me embody them in a whole new way. Nothing was connecting or linking, and I felt like my whole surf was spent underwater, caught on the inside.

It wasn’t the ocean that was letting me down this time. It was me, it was my own fault. I knew that and it made it worse.

I extracted myself from the white-water and paddled over to Jules, who I knew had seen my childish frustration acted out as I paddled into anything that came my way.

It’s okay, Bec. Don’t get frustrated. Just be happy you’re out here. Some days are like that, you know.

Her kind and patient words filled my eyes with tears, which I made my best efforts to blink back.

Oh Bec. No, you’re not okay.

Her hand reached out across the water and grabbed my arm, consoling me.I crumbled at her care,

I thought I could come out here and it would be easy. It should have been easy, there’s no reason it’s not. I thought I could come out here and get away from all the other things, but I can’t - it makes you too vulnerable. Surfing’s where it all comes together, isn’t it?

Jules patted my arm.

Yeah, babe. And you’ve just gotta go with it. You’ve just gotta let it happen.

Historically, ‘letting things happen’ is not the easiest of goals for me to reach for, but it is good advice and I am trying. We lay on our boards and Jules held my arm as we talked about pain and friends and loss and surfing and love, and my tears fell into the ocean. I was in the lineup, in a bikini and t-shirt, crying. I was exposed. It was the worst.

But then I caught my breath. And with Jules’ help, I caught waves. Lots of waves, as it turned out.

Come on Bec, go for this one. Look at it forming up, it’s gonna be nice.

And it was. I let all of those things – all of my frustrations – swirl within me and I went with it, I let it happen.

Science!

2011-03-29T15:32:00.013+10:00

When I was in high-school, there were two jobs in particular that I was attracted to; forensic scientist and marine biologist. I loved biology and did well in my classes, topping my year more than once. Nerd!

For reasons that don't bear explaining, forensic science piqued my interest when I was about 14, which might go some way to explaining my deep and abiding love for CSI across its many cities, with my order of preference being 1. Las Vegas, 2. New York and then 3. Miami (the least loved of the CSI family). Marine biology is a less interesting teenage dream as, let's admit it, all coastal children aim to live and work in the ocean, contributing to its health. Nonetheless, despite the cliche, it was my direction of choice. After finishing school and being accepted into the course, I deferred study to go travelling, where I met a young man who laughed at my dreams of saving the ocean, one turtle at a time,

Don't be ridiculous, he mocked. You can't do that! You love people and words, not fish. You need to find something else to study.

Thinking over his excellent points, I realised he was right. My romantic dreams were rightly shattered, and I ended up studying Arts instead. And the rest remains to be seen... Despite my fading knowledge, my interest and connections to biological sciences have remained. So imagine my delight at the discovery of this sign at the entrance to the building I have recently relocated to;

Isn't it wonderful! 'Science' in tube-lighting (Although, I think it really says 'Science!', with an exclamation mark). It brings me a thrill, that after so long I find myself, in a small way, back in the realm of my teenage dreams. I feel like an intruder, walking through corridors that have directions to 'Molecular Biology' and others to, well I forget exactly, but something to do with Algae! It gives me an odd thrill to think that I might be mistaken as the kind of person who looks like they might belong down one of those corridors. The buzz does get killed on the odd occasion when I bump into a colleague from my School who, with a look of confusion and concern on their face, demands,

What are YOU doing over here?

If only they knew how different things almost were...

Science!

Function vs fashion

2011-03-26T15:14:00.006+10:00

A snippet of conversation at the pub last night;

Me: So have many of the pro crew been surfing down here since the Noosa festival finished?

Joe: Of course! Loads of them. They're all over The Pass. I was talking to Sam about it the other day, and he reckons he's never seen so many people surfing in denim shorts!

Me: Haha!! How do you even surf in denim?

Suzy: Yeah. The other day, one guy was out in denim shorts and a full button-up shirt, done up to the neck. It certainly didn't look very comfortable.

The white, middle-class burden

2011-03-22T09:29:00.006+10:00

I came across this film by Dominic Coleman, over at The Surfer's Path,

More Surfing Videos

A comedian and actor by trade, Coleman explains that creating this cringe-making character, wasn’t actually that difficult for him:
“I started surfing about five years ago and as a landlocked, middle-aged weekend warrior I didn’t have to look too far for inspiration for the character of ‘Michael’. My family all appear playing themselves, again they didn’t have to do too much acting! I also pulled in a few favours from friends like Adrian at Fluid Juice and a few Bantham (Sth Devon) locals who all gave up a bit of time to help out.

“The inspiration for the character did actually come from a guy I met at Bantham. His wife and young daughter were lugging his SUP across the car park as he was chatting boards with another sweeper. He had a brand new T5 that he’d converted. I just thought he was a very funny guy and one of the ‘new’ breed of mid-life escapists who’d been drawn to the sea. (Again much like myself I have to add.) Since I had the opportunity, and some money from the film council, I thought I’d like to make a film about something I love. My background, work-wise, is predominantly tv comedy so I just set out trying to find a way to marry the two together.”

But watching this film made me feel a bit sad, actually. I know I'm supposed to ridicule this character, but I find myself feeling really sorry for him and the dissatisfaction he has with his life.

Another postcard (which I received)

2011-03-18T17:00:00.007+10:00

It being Friday and all, I thought I'd share a card my friend sent me for christmas. I probably shouldn't love it as much as I do.

Looking at it, it totally reminds me of that perplexing 60s surf film, How To Stuff A Wild Bikini...

The Ninth Wave - no girls allowed?

2011-03-09T12:00:00.012+10:00

I sat down at a cafe the other day to find a copy of recently released, The Ninth Wave (compiled by Sean Doherty and presented by Surfing World), sitting on the table. The book is a journey through 100 surfing images, using words from the photographer or the subject to tell the tale behind each photograph. It is very pretty, and a lovely idea.

How much do you bet that I don't find a single woman in this book? I asked my friend as I picked it up. She shrugged.

I flicked through every page of this book and unless I missed something (and I may have), there is not a single image of, nor a single photograph or story by a woman. In 100 hundred images. In 2011. In a publication presented by the Australian surfing magazine that is most supportive of women. In Australia, home to the current and four-time women's world shortboarding champ, Steph Gilmore, as well as one of the most significant female competitive surfers ever, Layne Beachley. In a country with an ever-growing female surfing population.

That is not to say that The Ninth Wave isn't lovely or wonderful, and it's certainly not to say that this book is unique in the ways that it ignores women's surfing, but it is to say that it is just not good enough. Sorry, but in 100 images, I really do feel that there was room for a few women (yes, more than one!) as surfers, photographers and writers, because unless publications like this get on-board and start to recognise the historical and cultural gaps they leave by excluding women, 'women's surfing' will remain 'women's surfing': as something separate rather than being included and known simply as 'surfing'.

Breathing Blue

2011-03-05T10:42:00.003+10:00

I went home a week or so ago. It had been over 6 weeks since I had been anywhere near the ocean, so I had been waiting, aching, dreaming of the moment when I would be in the water again. And a trip home was long overdue.

I packed the car and headed south but as I drove out of the city, I realised I had forgotten my board. Forgotten! My board! Instead of tied to my roof, it sat on its side in my garage in Paddington – dry and in the way. I could have kicked myself. My other mal has a ding and I’m embarrassed to admit that I’m too unfit to ride the 7’4” in the strong currents that have been running at the points. But there was no going back. I was on the highway and on my way and it would have meant getting stuck in peak-hour traffic, which is always a nightmare. So I sucked it up. I could always borrow a board if I wanted to.

But when I got home, none of that mattered because I didn’t surf. I don’t know why, but I just didn’t feel like it. I felt guilty for not wanting to be straight out there in the waves, but I am so tired and world-weary right now, that surfing seemed too hard. The points were cracking, but surfing there means dealing with rips, crowds and crew - that’s usually fine, but only if you’re feeling up to it - and when I checked the beach behind my house it was wild and breaking way out, with rips and channels etching themselves in the sand. I stood in my swimmers at the bottom of the track, surveying the carnage and pleased I had left the board at home. But the sun was warm and the water looked cool.

A swim will do it, I thought.

I kicked off my sandals into the sea grass, threw my towel and my top into the sand and walked – stripped and pale and vulnerable – into the water.

Calf deep, the current already tugged at my legs trying to suck me out to sea. I laughed at the attempt. This is where I grew up, so I know this game well and have no intention of letting myself get dragged out to sea, floating in the ocean, semi-clad, awaiting rescue by the local surf club. I don’t think so. I stayed in close to shore, waist-deep and sinking myself under the swirling wash. The water was cool and refreshing. Once immersed, I waited for relief from my tiredness and heavy-heart, waited for the salt water to wash it all away...

It didn’t happen.

I came up for air, confused and irritated, sitting with only my eyes and nose above water. The water around me was foamy and green. It was clear, but the surface eddied with bubbles of salt, churned by the waves. With the water swirling and the current dragging my knees along the sand, I felt a wave suck up behind me trying to break on my head. I sank beneath it in time to avoid the impact, but let myself be pulled along in the circling energy below. My hair, my limbs, my skin all tumbled and spun in the waist-deep water – scraped and sandy and limp and broken. I came up with hair in my face, sand on my skin, pulling up my fallen swimmers. Ugh. Not even being dumped in the shore-break could shake me out of this weighty sadness!

I threw myself under a few more waves, then stomped up the beach to my top and my towel, frustrated with this first swim in so long. Why didn’t it make me feel better? Why didn’t I feel cleansed, renewed. Why did I still feel so frantic? I tried to rationalise with myself that it is a little unreasonable to expect to ocean to save me every time.

Come on, Rebecca. Grow up! It’s just one shitty swim. Come again later.

I would come back later, and it would be different, but the ocean has never let me down this way before. It has never left me feeling so bereft, so disappointed, so helpless, so alone. Where else is there to turn if even the salt water can’t comfort me? Where could I turn?

The following days felt better. Time on beach with family and friends made a difference, and made it about more than just me, my headspace and my heart. We shared the beach, the water. Being at the beach with people I love worked wonders, and time in the sun certainly sweetened the previously bitter pill.

*****

Yesterday I sat on a different beach, in a different place and time. I had only been there once previously – for a (now redundant) wedding – so it is not a place that really means anything to me. The sand is yellow and the water is more black than blue, the cliffs and headlands are unfamiliar, and even the waters go under a different name to the warm, white, blue, green, tropical stretches I am so used to. But as I walked the road down the hill and sat on a log in the sand above the water, I felt myself begin to breathe. Slowly, consciously, in and out, in and out. Everything felt right, felt watery, felt oceanic. The friend I sat with broke our silence as we watched an older woman walk to the water on her own and paddle her bodyboard out into the shorebreak,

I wonder if I’ll still be coming to the beach when I’m 70? I hope so.

Everything has its ebb and flow, and I always struggle to accept that, but I know, and I will always know, that I will find a home in sand and salt water.

Sydney

2011-02-22T08:17:00.003+10:00

From 2000, I lived in Sydney for nearly four years. It was only last decade, but sometimes it seems like a lifetime ago...

When I first moved there, I hated it. I found it shallow, noisy, bright, vain and self-obsessed, and I couldn't find my own rhythm in amongst the pace. I'd never lived in a city before - I'd always found myself by the sea or in the countryside in small communities - so to move to Sydney was quite a big deal and lifestyle change. I found the lack of community, the disregard for each other and the focus on money and status to be strange and silly and petty, but what I found most difficult was the the grime, the constant sound of traffic, and the lack of stars. With the beautiful bright lights of the skyline came the loss of the night, the stars and the sounds of the ocean.

In the end, I found ways to love Sydney, and I remain smitten. I love the harbour, I love the bridges, I love the parks, the pools, the buildings. I love the busy middle of the CBD, the plaques in the footpath indicating the Tank Stream. I love the mountains so close by, I love the beaches separated by rocky cliffs, with that grainy, yellow sand that sticks in granules to my skin (so different to the powdery white sand I grew up on). I love the houses and buildings in the inner-city - Potts Point, Glebe, Leichhardt, Surry Hills, Paddington... I love that when I return I can slip back into my own version of Sydney where I know the streets, the buses, the train lines, the shops, the cafes, the restaurants, the paths, the markets, the shortcuts. It feels comfortable and familiar.

But most of all, I love the friends I have made down there, and each of whom I still miss every day. I love going back and meeting them around the city for drinks or to visit them in their homes. I love that they welcome back so warmly and are constantly searching for ways to draw me back to visit and to stay. They keep the city warm, alive and familiar for me - they keep it as a place that I love and know.

I'm off to Sydney today for a couple of weeks. I'm staying in the city and then heading up the coast to one of the beautiful northern beaches to spend a week with a few of my friends. I will get to visit the gallery, the library, walk the city streets, visit my darling Laura (and eat some cake for her birthday) and go for a run in Blackwattle Bay to admire my favourite bridge. And then I can spend a week up the coast by the beach drinking gin and tonics - drinking, talking cooking, eating, swimming, drinking, talking, drinking, eating, swimming, laughing. In my original plan, I was able to take a board, but it has not panned out to be so. Perhaps it's for the best though; it might keep me less distracted for my friends. But then, perhaps, I'll find a board to use while I'm there. It's funny how these things work out.

Anyway, I'm off to pack and get myself to the airport. See you soon, Sydney!

Brett Caller likes to surf

2011-02-14T13:06:00.008+10:00

My friend, Brett Caller, is a super fun person to surf and hang out with. He constantly froths and is always encouraging and supportive, while still managing to tease the hell out of me. Watching him surf, I have learned how to get waves in a busy lineup, while still being generous and respecting the people around me. He has his own blog, but also posts over at Valla, which is where I found the following post and image (by Dane Peterson);

*****

Growing up all I wanted was to do the biggest most radical turns I could do and the thought of not moving and simply just trimming across a wave bored the absolute shit out of me. Now days it's probably one of my favourite surf time's. I love the free feeling that you get from a 8'9 Alaia, no fins, no drag just trim. The speed is like no other I reckon it the fastest I have ever been on a wave in a straight line.

Sunday hangover

2011-02-13T13:46:00.007+10:00

Sitting at home in the city trying to work - with the thick, muggy air crowding me, clothes clinging to my skin, last night's drinks scratching at my brain, and the task of willing eggs on toast to appear ready and prepared in front of me taking all my energy - and all I can think about it how much I would like to be immersed in the ocean, looking back at a green and rocky headland. What sweet bliss, what sweet relief it would be to plunge under the waves, under the water, the coolness of it washing the remains of last night's excess away.

The long, cold shower I take instead is a poor compromise.

Ugh.

Animals in the surf

2011-02-11T10:40:00.007+10:00

Like all nations with a vibrant tourist industry, Australia produces some pretty questionable postcards. Which, may I admit here and without shame, I love. I love them. In fact, I used to have a whole sort of side-project, where I would keep my eyes open for them and send them to friends who were over the seas and living abroad.*

I bought these ones the other day to send to you all via my blog. I hope you enjoy them...

(I feel like this would have worked better if the Koala was on the nose of a longboard - hang ten, man!)

*Send me your address if you're keen!

Hollywood surfing

2011-02-10T07:42:00.004+10:00

So I finally made myself some time to look through all the blogs and sites I have been unable to get to recently. Some of them I have been saving up, as I know they will be full of shiny jewels like the clip below (which I found on the always excellent The Endless Bummer);

Why don't we dance like this anymore?

2011-02-07T08:08:00.005+10:00

Next night out, I am bringing this back. Katie, Nat and Sarah, you have been warned...

(In my head, I'm the chick in the blue dress.)

Rivermouth check

2011-02-04T09:21:00.006+10:00

I saw this photgraph by Paul Worsley over at Common Ground this morning.

I love it. It is such a great image and a common one around where I live. In fact, this photo is the summer version of the very break I wrote a story about nearly two years ago...

Rivermouth

I clamber down the sandbags that now constitute my beach track and head south along the sand. The sky is clear and the sun is warm and my jumper comes off pretty fast. There's some little waves breaking out the front that might be fun later. It's been weeks since I've been anywhere near the beach, so I just want to go for a walk and look around and check it out again.

The beach seems pretty empty, but I notice a couple of guys up in the dunes looking south, checking the surf. And a couple more. And more. And some with chairs. They're really engrossed. It must still be working further down. Harley told me last night that it was about the only bank in the whole region doing anything at the moment.

The guys stand low in their bodies, arms stuffed in pockets or folded self-consciously across their chest. Low-slung jeans, checked shirts, hoodies and beanies (and the odd pair of ugg-boots) protect them from the wind and cold, and mark them out among the sea-grass and banksias. Alone, or in twos, they stand still and quiet, engrossed in their own little process of observation and decision-making - to go out or not to go out. There isn't much talking.

I feel a wave of affection for them all. Them and their flannelette shirts.

I walk further along, towards the break they're watching. Even from here I can see that it's pumping. The sets are peaking up into A-frames and every wave has someone slashing and dancing along its length before flicking themselves (dramatically) over the back as it closes out. Between sets it's almost flat with little movement at all. It's funny to look out at the water full of bodies bobbing about with no waves in sight. They look ridiculous. But there's not much waiting. The sets are coming through with impressive regularity.

The bank is a walk up or down the beach from the nearest carpark, so there is a steady stream of black-rubber-clad bodies running both towards and from the break, each one clutching a small, thin, white board under their arm. Black steamer, white board - the look is almost universal with only one pale blue wetsuit, a dark green fish, a yellow longboard, and an old stained blue and yellow single-fin breaking the monotony. Black steamers stretching themselves on the beach, reaching for their toes, reaching their arms behind them to open their chests. Black steamers grabbing their boards and running into the water like time itself is coming to an end.

When they walk back towards their cars and homes, the anticipation has gone out of their movements. The walk back delays the beginnings of the day, work, commitments. They keep looking back over their shoulders to watch. As they get to the beach tracks, they stop and answer the perfunctory questions from those standing around. Who? What? Where? How? The cold wet surfers don't stay long, rushing back to the warmth of their cars and changing back into their jeans, checked shirts and beanies before carrying on with their day.

Women on Waves - Exhibition at the California Surf Museum

2011-02-03T14:35:00.005+10:00

(I can't actually believe I didn't know about this until now. Sigh.)

The California Surf Museum is currently hosting an exhibition called: Women on Waves: Performance, Beach Fashion and Feminine Mystique in the World of Surfing. I reckon it looks great and I really wish I could go and check it out.

If you have seen it, can you let me know what it was like? Thanks!

Women on Waves Exhibit from Angelica Bonomo on Vimeo.

November

2011-02-02T11:57:00.008+10:00

In my heart,
I always knew.

In my heart
I always held a place
ready for the fallout
and the pain.

In my head
I pushed aside
the thoughts
that lingered like shadows;
whispering, pointing,
asking questions, anxious.

In the end
it is your shadow
that haunts me;
whispering, pointing,
asking questions, anxious.

But now the clouds
have drawn themselves across the sun,
and shadows cannot live without light.
They disappear,
their stories fading...
Forgotten.

In my heart,
time passes.

Rides a bike

2011-01-28T10:44:00.002+10:00

Rides A Bike has got to be on some 'Top-10 Most Adorable Websites' list. If not, it should be.

Joni Sternbach and the Art Park/Atlantic Residency

2011-01-27T12:05:00.004+10:00

I was VERY excited to find out this morning that Joni Sternbach has been awarded the Art Park/Atlantic artist's residency in Bryon Bay.

I have talked about Joni Sternbach on this blog a few times before, and her images are inspiring, so I was so stoked to read of her award. And in my home town and all!!

Congratulations, Joni. Perhaps I'll see you around town...

Use me

2011-01-25T12:53:00.007+10:00

Over the years, some of my urban, non-surfing friends have expressed concerns about my associations with surfing. Variously, they have counselled me to get a better paying job, to leave the coast and to grow up. They have expressed their concern that the surfing stories I write and and the ideas I work on preclude me from being taken seriously in the wider world. I listen to them, smile and nod, and appreciate that their interventions are based on care for me and their worry that surfing is holding me back from a greater level of success in my life, work and finances. They love me dearly and only wish me the best.

So I sit and I listen to them. But I always find myself smiling and drifting, their words taking me away into the water. Because I like my life and I like that the ocean and catching waves are a part of it, I like the way all of that makes me feel and that I get to write about all of that. I feel lucky. Maybe it is a one-sided relationship, but it certainly works for me.

Consolidate

2011-01-17T22:57:00.003+10:00

So, a fair bit of time has passed (and a lot has happened) since I last posted back on December 16th. Since that time my internet:computer:time:energy ratio has been a bit of a negotiation through family, location, obligations, stress, work, and other assorted and general end-of-one-year-beginning-of-the-next chaos.

But I have been blogging in my head, so the plan is to back date posts to get me back to this date. I will try and post them in order, but I can't promise anything. If you are really keen, you might have to keep looking back through between here and Dec 16th to catch all that I post in the coming week or so. I'm not certain it is the most rational or necessary method, but this is my blog, so I get the final say in making this that slightly dubious call. It might take me a bit of time, but you will know when I have caught up with myself and stopped posting previous to this, because this post will no longer be the top one, and will itself get buried beneath something new.

Anyway, I hope it works and I also hope you don't think I'm completely mental...

A corner of my bedroom

2011-01-17T22:14:00.005+10:00

(Note: The parasol is hiding a pile of unread/in-the-process-of-reading books, and I acquired the green swimmers yesterday.)

Dan: still in a van

2011-01-15T15:44:00.002+10:00

I've introduced you to Dan before. Well, now he's on a prolonged surf trip with a mate (or two or three it seems).

He sent me a link to check out their trip so far. Please note that Dan clearly isn't the author of this blog, as I am pretty sure he would rock - not suck - at Scrabble!

I can't even imagine how feral they would be...

By the way, where's your log, Dan? That slimline, white quiver looks empty (but easy to transport) without it!

Making Friends With The Neighbours: Swimsuit Edition (Part 1 - Swimwear)

2011-01-10T09:01:00.024+10:00

Where I'm from, surfing in summer involves spending a lot of time clad in little more than swimmers. For hours and hours every day, you can wear little more than what amounts to less than a couple of metres of metres of stretchy fabric, covering much less of your skin! And since I spend SO much time in swimmers, I always have keen eyes for swimmers that are practical, which will stay on and, which are cute! In the surfing world I inhabit, the chicks tend to have some fun with their swimwear choices - colour, cut, shape, pattern and style. It's not necessary, no. But it is certainly fun. The other problem of course is that with all that sunlight, salt water, wax and sunscreen, a pair of swimmers lasts for a lot less time than I would mostly like them to, so I make sure I have a couple of pairs in rotation. I do love my swimmers, so I do like them to last.

Anyway, like many other women in the water, I am always on the lookout for swimmers to surf in. This is not a talent or aspiration limited to me, of course. I read a post last year over at Coconut Girl Wireless, which comprehensively listed the things that annoy her on swimmers that are marketed as meant to be surfed in! My own list would focus on gripes about coverage, quality and durability, and I also like to find things that don't look too, well, too sporty. For these reasons, I tend to shun the mainstream surf brands (you know who I mean) as I don't really find they are made for me. The colours, styles and branding are massive turn offs, and I don't really want to give them my money either - I wield the small power I have as a consumer with relish! This has left me as a bit of a resourceful woman seeking out smaller labels to enjoy and support.

So I thought that in the spirit of things, and it being the season of swimmers here in the southern hemisphere, I would share some of my favourite discoveries with you. So, in no particular order, here is Making Friends With The Neighbours: Swimsuit Edition (Part 1 - swimwear). And if you have any other suggestions for me, please, please, please send them along!!

*********

Tallow
Tallow is rad. Seriously. I have been wearing a one-piece made by these ladies for some time now (it's my absolute favourite!), and the gorgeous piece of swimwear joy won't quit - I love it!! Their range is gorgeous and fun and made to be worn and to be surfed in. They even have a guide to let you know which surf conditions each piece is suitable for! I have been eyeing off their high-waist bikini and the surf suit for a while now... Like I said, Tallow is rad.

Muther Of All Things
This recently launched label has some pretty interesting pieces going on. They've played around with the styles and shapes of rashies and wetsuits, which I support whole-heartedly! Although the bikinis might not be so stable in the waves, the one-pieces and wetsuits could come in rather handy and be quite fun while doing so.

Sanoii and Six
I came across Sanoii and Six, at the Finders Keepers market in Brisbane, late last year. The rack of pretty retro-style swimmers drew me in, and as I looked through them and chatted to the designers I mentioned they'd be great to surf in. One of the girls smiled and explained that she surfs and designed these swimmers to surf in! We were both pretty excited. While some of the pieces would be small-surf only, I reckon the high-waist bottoms would have some strong staying power.

Kali
Kali is a brand based out of NZ, which I found when I was in Raglan last year. I didn't have the dollars to acquire anything, but they looked awesome. When I got time to check out the website, I found the banner proclaiming Kali: Not the death of sexy. Bikinis for surfing, to which I say, hoorah!! I reckon they might be living up to their claim of being for surfing, because the T-backs and cross-backs they include on the bikinis are always the easiest way to keep them on for the duration.

Hive

Like Kali, Australian label Hive aims to produce swimwear for women who are active in the water by making swimmers that stay on! They have been around for a while now and their stuff has consistently filled their brief and is good quality. Even better, you can buy the tops and bottoms separately (online at least), which is awesome!

Jets
As you may have noticed, I am a sucker for anything that even slightly evokes the 1950s and 60s. Especially when it comes to swimwear! I love the cuts, which tend to be halter-neck and low on the leg. Perfect! So when I walked past a window display of the latest Jets range, I was beside myself with joy. (And was also very quickly the stoked owner of a red with blue polka dots one-piece.) Although I don't usually find that these fashion labels are much suited for wave-riding in, this particular range is pretty great and fun! (And the marketing makes me want to lounge about and drink margaritas!)

*********

Anyway, as you may have figured out, I love swimmers - especially ones you can surf in! There are a whole heap more folk doing cool things like this out there, and this is only a tiny sample. And thank you, thank you to them all!

Pop tarts

2011-01-09T10:27:00.001+10:00

I have never made a secret of my delight in pop music. Admittedly a lot of it is total crap and can be problematic on a whole lot of levels, but the stuff that I find is best tends to be quite funny. When I want to have fun or when I want to stay awake while driving or when life gets intense and I want to escape, I turn to pop (or Dolly Parton!), because it reminds me not to take it all too seriously.

Yep, that's right: I like pop music because I think it has a sense of humour.

And I was reminded of this recently when I went back and listened to one of Gwen Stefani's albums - she makes some pretty amusing songs. Seriously though, tell me this song isn't funny...

Well hello there, Kitty.

2011-01-03T04:13:00.004+10:00

This is what my niece got when a friend of ours indulged her with a toy from one of those coin-operated, lucky-dip machines.

Isn't it marvellous! It is so kitsch and unnecessary and oddly enchanting, and I always love and cherish those times when surfing suddenly appears in unexpected and often irrelevant places.

Christmas waves: a love letter

2010-12-25T23:07:00.008+10:00

Christmas day in Byron Bay includes surfing. It just does. For me, that means either my beach (which is a usually quite dangerous beach that is always oddly gentle for christmas) or Wategos. This year, it was a double showing at Wategos - morning, then afternoon.

Beautiful, gorgeous, picturesque, lovely, ideal-beyond-belief Wategos is usually packed with people for christmas day, but this year it was raining so the crowds mostly stayed indoors, leaving the waves empty of that fair-weather crew. The morning waves were nothing much to talk about. They were lovely but slightly, well, meh. But the evening was different.

Izzy collected Jessie and I from our respective homes. We stacked our mals on the roof of her car, bid farewell to our snoozing, post-lunch families and drove into town. When we arrived, we were far from inspired by the small waves, which also seemed slightly busier than we had expected. But we were there, and we are frothers, so in we went.

At first there was a weird vibe in the water - a crew of drunk travellers was being kind of aggressive and a bit dangerous. They were taking over in ways that were weird and unnecessary. We considered leaving, but stuck it out, using our knowledge of and relationships to the break to pick off waves from the drunk folk. Eventually they went in, leaving it calmer and safe - me, Izzy, Jessie (and a delighted, smiling Tom, who is always a joy to share any surf with).

And then something happened. I'm not sure what - The wind dropped off? The tide changed? The swell improved? A combination of everything? - but suddenly our average waves became something special. Suddenly they were long, green, glassy, clean, fast and golden. Suddenly Jessie was zipping along, low in her body, crouched on her board, speeding in trim. We were paddling back out laughing and gasping at how fun it was. Suddenly Izzy was at the front of her board, stepping into a perfect 10. Feet together, knees soft, arms by her side, perched on the nose: technical, aesthetic, beautiful. To her delight, I was witness and cheerleader to her stoke, sharing it with her. Suddenly I was turning hard on waves I thought it not possible: flying along, water sparkling from the tail of my board, Izzy and Jess laughing and hooting. Suddenly I was filled with that feeling of connection - body, mind, time, place, water, air, movement all making perfect sense right then and there. That feeling of balance, presence, serenity, happiness, joy, sadness, luck and love. And I got to share that with my friends.

I shouted to Izzy and Jess as we all paddled back out together after getting consecutive waves, laughing and smiling;

This is officially an excellent surf!

Yew! The girls yelled back, This is amazing!!

We surfed together until 8 o'clock that night, until we were tired, until the waves had run themselves out. We giggled, laughed and squawked our way back to the car, re-stacking the boards and giving in to Izzy's offer of champagne and chocolate at her house. We popped the bottle and talked more about the perfect waves we had shared, until Izzy concluded,

I'm going to remember this surf for a long time.

We laughed again, finished the champagne, put on some tunes - Ella, Dusty, Frank, Ray, Diana - and (I) danced until we all began to ache and yawn!

I cannot begin to imagine a more perfect ending to any day, let alone christmas 2011, nor more perfect people to have shared it with.

xx

Christmas cheer

2010-12-24T10:02:00.002+10:00

Yeah, yeah, I know. But indulge me.

Wham - Last Christmas
Uploaded by hushhush112. - See the latest featured music videos.

Endless

2010-12-16T10:40:00.007+10:00

I have grown

on sands,

soft and white;

in waters,

blue and warm.

I have grown

on the coast

by the sea,

safe and sound

and quiet.

It is my place

to play and laugh,

to sit and think,

to love and mourn.

It is the place

that offers me comfort.

I have never felt fear there.

I have never wailed,

nor felt the sting of

of its thieving violence.

I have never

been asked to know

the ocean when

it plays

so black and blue,

so sharp and hard

so callous.

So oceanic.

I have never

been asked to pay

for my passage,

for my escape.

For me

the water is;

welcoming

soft

blue

warm

safe

white

home

endless…

A beginning.

An embrace.

I have never faced

the ocean as

a barrier;

ghostly

unforgiving

dry

threatening

unfamiliar

potential

treacherous

endless…

An ending.

A drowning.

It has never

offered me so much

yet taken

so much more away.

It has never lied to me

(The fiend!)

The sand,

white beneath my feet,

has always offered

a path home.

My heart can

barely bring itself

to imagine

the rocks,

screams,

broken boats,

terror,

loss and

floating bodies,

as part of the same

Australian coastal

vision and embrace.

Endless…

Art Park/Atlantic artist residency in Byron Bay

2010-12-01T10:26:00.010+10:00

The art folk of the surfing world have developed some pretty cool and supportive opportunities over the years. The latest one I have just seen is two newly created 4-6 weeks artist residencies in Byron Bay.

Excellent!

I have pasted some of the details below, but trot off to the Art Park website for all the info and application forms. And good luck!

Art Park/Atlantic Guesthouse artist residency

This residency program commences in February 2011. Each residency is held in conjunction with Atlantic Guest House Byron Bay, who provide the artist with accommodation and studio space.

We are happy to consider artists who work with wall mounted works, sculpture, photography, new technologies and installation.

Residency length is four to six weeks long. In consultation with Art Park, each residency may incorporate a solo exhibition and a floor talk.

The Art Park/Atlantic Artist Residency Program will supply and fund:

Fully furnished accommodation for a period of up to 6 weeks. The apartment is free of rental, gas and electricity charges to the artist in residence. An internet connection is available. This building is part of the Atlantic complex and is a 5 minute walk to shops, cinemas and the beach.
A studio space is available adjacent to the accommodation. A larger printmaking studio is also available off site.
Economy class travel from the Artists home to Byron Bay and return.
An daily allowance of up to $80.00AUS per day will be paid in advance to the artist to assist with miscellaneous daily expenses (food, surfboard hire, etc)

What we require

Each artist in residence is not required to produce a body of work, although we anticipate the environment may contribute to some creative output.

We ask the artist to leave behind 2 works of any size and format. These works will become part of the Art Park /Atlantic Artists Residency Program permanent collection.

**Applications for 2011 residencies are now open and close on December 31st 2010. You can find an application form via here.**

Residency times

Each residency can range from four to six weeks in the following months:

Residency 1: Mid February & March 2011
Residency 2: Mid September & October 2011 (to be confirmed)

Collaborations with other Institutions

The Art Park/Atlantic Artist Residency Program has an ongoing relationships with key galleries in Australia and will facilitate an exhibition of work should the artist desire.

Successful applicants are encouraged, but not required, to interact with the local community and schools by providing lectures or floor talks about their art practice.

Two Weeks - Johnny Abegg

2010-11-29T14:25:00.007+10:00

Johnny Abegg is someone I admire - as a surfer, a man and as a friend. He is the kind of person who is unfailingly honest, generous and kind, and has a laugh that is impossibly infectious.

His latest film, Two Weeks, is about to start touring from Sydney down to Tasmania. His latest film is raw, honest and brave and is a labour of love documenting two weeks he spent in the Tasmanian wilderness during a tumultuous time in his life. If you find yourself close to one of the venues, do yourself a favour and get along for a look and to support this independent film.

xx

Sunny, with cloudy periods

2010-11-28T16:05:00.010+10:00

Just like a ghost
you've been a-hauntin' my dreams,
but now I know,
you're not what you seem...

My favourite Surf Friday

2010-11-26T16:00:00.006+10:00

Jamie Watson rules.
Seriously though, PineappleLuv is the bomb!

Check it!

A (generic) surf film review.

2010-11-24T16:38:00.014+10:00

I was looking through the mess on my noticeboard today, and found three hand scrawled* pages pinned up behind a photograph. I knew exactly what they were - they were notes I sat and wrote on the back of some flyers after watching a surf film showing some time ago. I'm going to share the notes with you, but I'm not going to tell you which surf film it is, as I don't really think it matters. In the end, reading over my thoughts, I think they are pretty generic to many of the surf films I have seen (although there are, of course, some excellent exceptions to this rule).

I do want to say that the imagery and sounds in the film that I prompted these notes were beautiful and thoughtful, and that I'd had a particularly confusing conversation that day, so was feeling a bit raw and I remember both the images of water and the music affecting me in ways I wasn't expecting in terms of my responses. I think I cried. But even that, even that could not hide the fact that it was, in the end, just like every other surf film. Only prettier.

Anyway, here it is...

A generic surf film review,
scrawled hastily by Rebecca Olive, as she quaffed** a glass of wine.

Sometimes, my heart breaks. The rifts that already exist are revealed in voices, sounds, images and ideas. Creative yearnings and aspirations find their way in and through, and it hurts. And then, my heart finds itself again. It slowly clasps itself, like a fist closing. Then there is space to think, to see and to know.

What I see is nothing new.

What I see is enchanting, enthralling, mesmerising but it is nothing new. It is the same people, ideas, waves and perspectives. It is the same talk. The same crew. Stories of manhood, fighting for a place, losing yourself. Playing, enjoying, knowing. There was nothing new. MP and Dora are pointed out and highlighted. They are already recognisable, but are identified to make sure that I know I should be impressed, dazzled.

I'm not.

This is a film by and about men. Of course. The women are invisible at best, window dressing at worst; appearing as ethereal or pink-clad visions. They are, it seems, there, but they just sit still and don't surf.

I hate that the obviousness of their invisibility irks me so, and that it precludes my pure enjoyment. In the end, I find it hard to lose myself within and amongst The Boys. Find it hard to know where and how I fit. I suppose it's because I wonder if I do at all? Or if I ever will? That is, if I am honest, my last hope.

*If you have ever had the challenge of deciphering my handwriting, you will have some idea of what I mean.

**Please enjoy this excellent definition of 'quaff' - to drink a beverage, especially an intoxicating one, copiously and with hearty enjoyment. with hearty enjoyment.

West coast, NZ

2010-11-22T09:42:00.007+10:00

So where were you yesterday afternoon?

If it wasn't here, then you were totally missing out.

(Thanks, Holly)

Dirty tree.

2010-11-19T05:00:00.001+10:00

More and more.

Better and better.

I wouldn't go back a single day.

Eyes that could steal a sailor from the sea! Or not, as it turn out.

2010-11-18T06:00:00.001+10:00