Boat Bird and the great sea swell of doubt.

The water continues to rise in Brisbane and, being married to a mediaman, I am flooded with the weight of it. I struggle with how removed I remain.With the paradox of natural disaster.

In my hot, dry home, I run the ebb and flow of days and nights with three sick children, nothing serious except for my nerves and lack of sleep. And the greyness of doubt. 
An afternoon working in the studio saves me from running so far inward I that can't see.
Instead I name what I can see in the swell of BIG doubt:
I am concerned with the lack of rigour in some of my posts,
the lack of distinction,
the occasional school project feel of it,
the small flock of birds flying,
the rejection in the form of quiet reply. (This is not a performance)
With the volume of silence,
the hesitation in posting hesitation,
the sharing of not knowing and uncertainty,
the confusion of double platform and duel audience,
the possibility that I am investing too much in a distraction (from my own future).
With the lack of time,
the fallout of expectation,
the conflicting reality of transparency and self censoring,
the pressure.
With the question of value, and reason,
the accumulation of relentless flying lessons,
the repeated crashing into runway,
the lack of auto pilot.

And then I fall into the relief of realising I have lost my way in the night, and that most days I have no map nor compass here.  I am forced to let go of the micro-detail of the researcher in me. The academic. I accept that there is too much information here. I accept I do not know most of it. I fly anyway.

So right now, I post what I am sure of; the collaboration between Lilly and I. The stories we are writing and imaging as we go, the creation of them as miniature limited edition books within the pages of the magazine. The collection. And this particular one, we introduce below: Boatbird,  originally an idea of a friendship between a boat and a bird dreamed by Lilly, to which I responded to by falling in love with this deeply felt bird over the original one. Between the idea and the response, a platform of collaboration and process was born. The words and imaging of Boatbird fly in response to what we hear, in response to children who are thrown against rocks, in response to things much bigger than doubt.

Boat Bird and the long sea home (Part 1)

One hundred thousand steps from home he had carried his boat. His head was flat and his heart full of too many days and too much water. He was tired. Finally, at the edge of the ocean he stood while all of the barnacles caught up in his wings slid off one by one in a little procession.

The barnacles had become dry and cracked on the long journey but as they hit the sea one by one, each of the tiny hidden bodies replenished; a fleet who had found their journeys end now quickly overtaken by a new starting line. Boatbird had arrived at the beginning again, he heaved with the weight of his brave boat and gathered his last strength. He was on the run, from faraway seas that were no longer safe. His only hope to freedom was on the other side of the enormous stretch of water before him... 

Boatbird images by Lilly, words by Jo. Ideas, content, and response for images and words and the space between them belong to both artists. All rights reserved.(For all children on a difficult journey)

Doodle birds

I have begun doodling birds. They are funny things, with many many wings and always with their feet on the ground. I don't know what it was that suddenly prompted me to respond to our call out after all this time. I am not at all an artist in that sense but my collection of pen birds grows and makes me laugh.  Have a go now...pick up the nearest pen or pencil and doodle a bird on whatever scrap of paper is nearby. They don't have to fly anywhere in particular...but I do think to make a post of doodle birds...

And with the doodle birds come lists and lists of birds...Character birds (Big bird, Wise Owl in Winnie the Pooh, Tweety bird, Road runner), Blog birds (millions!), Book birds (To kill a mockingbird, One Flew over the Cuckoos nest),  Song birds (Blackbird by the beatles, Rockin Robin), Dance birds (Swan lake, ADT's BIRDBRAIN,  Jennifer Monson's project of the same name following the migration of birds), Bird calls (listen here to a kookaburra and other bird calls on the Birds Australia site) and the Bird-watcher birds; 'twitchers'...

I find my way swooping in and out of endless other bird projects, flight risks, and the many artistic birds I know.

The lists bring a certain order and flight path for future: The year starts its negotiations in full this week, with two new theatre projects beginning in the studio as well as a design brief to be sorted for BIG. Meanwhile, Lilly is hanging upside down on the island somewhere in the midst of circus yoga workshops and a house full of boys making films for Kids Tropfest. We make plans to finally meet amid the madness. Face to face. Lilly will fly to me (she has less children!) and there will finally be magazine making in the same room.

The magazine will definately have a Mr Squiggle style doodle bird page for the kids and BIG kids...the bird in your hand is calling you...doodle it..and feel free to add to the bird lists!

World birds

  

Lucas Manganelli, Paris

  


Pila,  Sydney

 

As one artist flies in real time, right now, from Perth to Paris, he leaves a bird trace of his time here to share the BIG sky with the creative colour of five year old Sydney artist, Pila.

Happy landing Lucas. Happy days Pila! And thank you both.

The BIG bird guide; What bird are you?

As we speak to kids and artists and listen to questions and excitement, it is incredible to see how the bird call task piques interest across ages. The little ones push up their sleeves and dive in. A group of nine year old girls laugh at the varying degrees of bird possibilites -discussing birds with buck teeth and beauty in all formats. A visiting french dancer drafts his winged contribution before flying back to Paris. A woman and her daughter collaborate in the UK. A 15 year old boy describes how he will craft a wire clay bird. A ten year old boy sketches a series of pencil birds one after the other, each with a character and purpose. A bird guilded to the corner of a napkin is collected in Hobart. A portrait of Cat with Bird pounces in from a fab Perth photographer, and the world of Jen Zed lands in our BIG inbox.


A brilliant question, thanks Jen Zed!
It's got us thinking at BIG about what bird we would be, and about what sort of birds our BIG readers would be! Hummingbirds, Bower birds, Eagles, Kookaburras, Willy Wagtails, Parrots, Pigeons, Doves,  Peacocks, Storks, Geese...? 
Ans as for those birds without precedent being imagined and built around the world, fly your way into the BIG sky here before Feburary 14th and we will publish you here!


'How to build a bird...', Luca, 7 and Sacha, 4, Perth.

If you are helping your child, or the one who lives next door to contribute a bird, invite them to imagine any bird of their choosing; beautiful, curious, silly, grand, serious, magical, and ask questions like 'what does it look like, what wings does it have, does it have a name, is it giant or tiny size, does it tell stories, is it an adventurer, is it sad or laughing, is it real or invented?' Word-birds are welcome too - it is your vision, your bird and a flight for all. Artists, follow your interest, your practice and your contribution will sit next to the bird of the child in equal flight.


 

The BIG migration is building. Click on the BIRD CALL page above for details and send us your Birds!

New Year Birds 1 / 1 / 11

 

Tom Greder

 

Once upon a time, exactly 40 years ago today, I flew from the snow and icicles to a far, far away land where people spoke in tongues and the air was like steam.

Once upon a time, exactly today, I am back in the snow and icicles speaking in tongues and wondering about a far, far away land….and about air that is like steam.

No matter where you go, there you are.

(Tom Greder)

 

Ben, 5, Sydney

Running from the blocks and sliding into a seat at the drawing table, he wields a texta and scribbles three letters onto the back of a blank page, B E N. Smiling to his friend, he says,

"Mine is going to be flying right off the very tippy top of the tallest tree in the whole completely wide world!" 

 

Happy New Year!

A mother (artist) of an identity crisis!

As we begin to put links out to the world and connect with various forums and platforms for sharing BIG, Lilly and I freeze in unison. We both lose our breath. And then we find it again, laugh, let it go, and get back to work.

We are both working artists primarily in and for an adult world. As our child-focused 'likes' fill up on facebook 'outing' us as 'mumpreners' to our friends, the wearing of the BIG new identity shakes us both. We are not used to being this visible. And for many of our friends, so out of context.  I had coffee the other day with a visiting french choreographer who thought I was a children's writer because of the link to BIG on my email signature. As it turns out, he was as interested in my work with BIG as he was with my choreographic practice and we laughed a lot about identity, dance, kids, and Perth. It was an unexpected trip up into thinking about visibility, perception and image. About how much we take for granted about who we are and the worlds we slip between.

It brought to my attention too, that in my work, my children are pretty much invisible. Yes, the odd reference to the balancing act is recounted but, really, they are unseen and unspoken of. And that is the way it works best. After all, as mothers we are not defined only by our children. And at the same time, of course, we are. The literature on this is extensive and I don't plan to write a thesis on it here, but I have written several papers on the career(ing) dance of the artist-mother, and will link to them here when I work out how!

I wonder sometimes, how it is possible to completely give my all to several children, people and projects at the same time. It seems one idea drives the next and the momentum builds in the transition times allowing for otherwise impossible responses to provoke me to places unplanned. I dream about the beginning of a new project, wake up and write notes on another, while simultaneously landing on a line for a new script I am co-writing. Lilly quietly puts her PhD proposal in her pocket for now, as she flies to Tasmania for work with babe and BIG in arms. We think to put links up here to our other work - to offer windows into the worlds we occupy, to our experience as educators, our history and mutual ongoing passion for 'response' based work, to the worlds that fuel this BIG one. We talk about how BIG can hold us both and all that we imagine for BIG as we draft the bones and body of the first issue of the magazine.

We formulate houses and footings for BIG with the main house a website where kids are immediately welcomed and offered a view to the BIG sky, as well as rooms and gardens containing words, characters and ideas and cool things to respond to and direct. Sitting in the window will be This BIG blog continuing the journey of the mother artist, the day to day 'making of a magazine', and the evolving story of BIG.


Future Bird with Maraca and plasma sword.
Jack, 10, Perth

So. We accept our expanding cloaks, make friends with other fabulous publications and start sorting the flatplan. All the while, there are myriad birds flying in response to Bird Call. Birds imagined and realised in so many ways.

A very good friend of mine, Jack, (10) draws me a continuous series of birds. Like his future bird, I send my identity out in all forms, holding a sword in one hand and maracas in the other.

Play on.



Birdie Bird. Jack, 10, Perth



Eletro Bird. Jack, 10, Perth

Mama Birds

Birds walking towards the end of a year gather coloured ribbons of days unwrapped, and remember.


Lilly, Sydney



Ava, 5, Sydney



Travelling work stations #2: Fledgling artists

In transit work station/Tuesday

 I come from a sparkling Sydney foreshore, high on blood orange gelato and the memory of my little girls radiant dance in a botanical gardens pavement puddle. Thankful that moments into the Annie Liebovitz exhibition she fell asleep and I was able to immerse myself fully in the ambient light and potent intimacy of the still impressions, and vignettes. Yet of all the bold, powerful and celebrated portraits I come home moved by a tiny image nestled near the bottom of the pin up boards replicating the artists studio. Compelling in it’s simplicity. A black and white kitchen, with a framed drawing by Leibovitz’s young daughter hanging on a background wall. I listened for a long time. Heard scraps of domestic conversations and the imagined stories that inevitably fill spaces inhabited by children. Pondered our many hidden makeshift galleries and the bedroom archives of our offsprings renderings. The voices of our children. 

Tonight I am struck by the significance of the fledgling artist living in our suburban homes. Small hands unhindered by knowing.  The fridge is gallery enough. Archetypal stories told with new characters in drips and shapes. Birds with triangular bellies and fears unveiled in superheroes and fallen thrones. Mysteries celebrated and revered. Life inside the secrets. Drawn in.  

Among us are the voices we long to hear, unbridled in child rapture. We are listening.