My earliest creative experiences are a cacophony of sensations and imagery, snippets of memory from a montessori guided childhood.
Held together by the rich, dense, landscape of the early eighties in Brisbane, Queensland. Near the banks of the Brisbane river on the edge of a creek drapped in lantana, our backyard was our playground.
The crackling summer heat, peacocks proudly displaying their beauty, bush turkeys darting from childrens grasping hands.
Painting naked on a big easel, my older brother and my skin coated in splashes of watered down tempura. Photographs a testimont of this time.
Grinding gunpowder out of sand, waging war on imaginary enemies with sticks as guns.
Squeeling with delight as we flee from our neighbours yard, after peeking through her windows yelling WITCH!
Building blocks half my size, making the interior walls of our jungle gyms on the large verandah of our Queenslander.
Montessori playgroup underneath our house, longing to escape upstairs to watch playschool on TV.
Spending hours immersed in the world displayed in the many reproduction prints on our walls - van goghs bedroom, van goghs flowers, bosch, polenysian women in exotic jungles.
Dancing to music on my clock radio.
Weaving memories in my creative being.
An inquiry into working with Creative Arts Therapies in a regional setting
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