2020 Covid lockdowns found me on Dangar Island NSW.
Dangar seemed to drift between worlds effortlessly. Caught between the rush of tides. Stranded at low tide. Exposed to jagged oyster shells like shattered dark glass protecting a property line. The buoyant high tide lifted and embraced you holding you up to the sky.
Cloaked in smoke and heat for months over the tortured summer. Constant vigilance the requirement for the season. Then flooding rains poured down. The torn hands and uprooted feet of eucalyptus tumbled past swelling jetties. Winter was still and bathed in light. I took to rowing and drifting along the currents. The migratory birds returned.
I worked in the community garden around the local bowlo supplying fresh greens for their kitchen. The locals gathered there at a distance for take away pizza and catch up on Thursday nights. Its' a small island. We walked around it daily for exercise. I painted and drew on paper. These small canvases these marks are caught like in a net dragged to the surface or flung to the wind. They are glimpses, reflections on water upon this floating world.