The creativity gene passed me by. So did most (all?) of the essential abilities and skills required for success at the Arts. And being described as ‘artisan’, ‘inventive’ or ‘patient’ is about as likely as me ever winning the Archibald Prize.

So back in the dark ages when I picked up my first (film) camera and peered through the viewfinder, I had an epiphany. I could actually see things through it I’d never noticed without it.

I’d found a portal into the secret world of … well, whatever I was looking at. Without it, the world was flat and ever-so-slightly dull. But through the lens, colours seemed brighter, patterns appeared, and details became endlessly fascinating.

And the magic of the minutiae came zinging down the lens like a coded message glimmering through the mirage that separates me from that other world.

Sometimes so close I can almost understand it.

Or at least attempt to catch it.

The urge to explore the language of that secret world – where nothing speaks more strongly than the trees – casts a spell so compelling I spend hours trying to capture it. And for one brief moment I can channel what it is to be a true artist.

And when the trees speak their secret language in the shimmering sunlit swirls of melaleuca reflections in a tannin-stained lake, time passes too quickly before the moment is gone forever.

The interior tells of times gone by too in the red rings of age, the cracks of weathering and a record of the blades that saw this monster fall.

And on the surface, the bark and its startling abstractions of texture, colour and pattern. Are any two the same? Who knew the native Australian Eucalypt is the only genus in the world with species representing all regions and habitats from sea level to the snow line?

Above, a leafy canopy throws a filter over the sky, rendering the harsh sun bearable through its colours and patterns. And the tree’s secret language translates the play of light into a message of comfort and peace.

The trees, with their movement, their life and their magic, surround a wind-rippled pool and turn its darkened depths into a scene of such perfect abstraction I’d never have had the imagination or patience to paint.

Limbs bleached by the sun and weathered by rain radiate from the trunk of a tree, hugging the earth where it fell. Am I the only one to see its dramatic design in this lifetime? Its remnants will still mark the land once I too am dust.

No, age is no barrier to the language of trees. Weathered and worn, and now giving life to other living things as they sink into the oblivion of the Aussie bush, their colours now muted as they blend with the forest floor.

A strangler fig grows large as the tree it grasps grows weak in the brutal cycle of the natural world where each has a role in creating that dynamic collective of flora and fauna we call the rainforest.

And even where the trees don’t grow, they influence the landscape as their image flickers over forest streams, throws a backdrop for the birds and ripples round the river banks creating the glorious watercolours of the Aussie bush.

Then the trees speak again in the random structures of their fallout. How would that bushland look without the attractive asymmetry of random trunks, the enigma of interwoven branches, the harmony in the patterns they create?

A sensation of colour marks the entrance of spring.

And against that blue BLUE Aussie sky, the trees speak of growth, of survival, of life.

I may never fully decipher the secret language of the trees. But what I see through my lens is a glimpse of its meaning.

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The post The Secret Language of Trees appeared first on Australia by Red Nomad OZ.

There are only a few small obstacles standing between me and international superstardom as a painter.

Things like talent, aptitude and skill. Patience. Vision. Technique and vision. Ability and patience. Artistic temperament, creativity and patience.

And a pathological inability to starve in a garret. Or starve anywhere …

So I got all excited when I saw how this reflection of trees in the almost still waters of the Dunkeld Arboretum Lake looked through my viewfinder. One click to enhance the colour with my camera’s ‘Magic’ setting. Another couple of clicks to crop away some of the water. Et voilá!

Maybe I can pretend to be an artist after all.

Although I’ve been in training for this moment for awhile. Holding up my camera and pressing the shutter button to capture the picture perfect beaches, intense RED rocks, killer sunsets and AMAZING landscapes of Australia can get a little tedious.

So I started looking for distractions alongside the standard landscapes that I tend to shoot. And found the abstract swirl of water around the Point Turton Jetty on South Australia’s Yorke Peninsula! Be very VERY grateful I haven’t produced a calendar of the many shots of the ever-changing water patterns I took … yet!!

But as I trawled my photo archive from the last 12 months, I found further evidence that my obsession with water abstractions was alive and well. Who knew water could be so many colours? Like the muted shades reflected in Gulf St Vincent Gulf from this Sultana Point Sunset?? Especially with that touch of yellow ochre which my ever-despairing art teacher told me would lift my pedestrian and dull paintings so long ago … I SO get it now, Mr D!!

So while I’ll never be an artist I’ve taken the liberty of calling this my ‘Watercolour’ series. I’ll never be done with my usual jealousy-inducing shots of the endless sun, sand and surf of the (often empty) Australian beaches – but the swirl of the sea moving over the coloured sand beneath caught my eye. And while this is the least colourful of my series, it’s probably the most delicately nuanced.

See? I CAN do arty-speak when I need to!!

Quite different – but just as irresistible to my wandering eye – was the mass of lily pads gently floating above the North New South Wales rainforest reflections that emphasized the depths of Rocky Creek Dam.

And on Mt William in the Victorian Grampians the addition of water makes the already impressive colours of the ‘Magic’ enhanced rocks lining the summit road GLOW!

Down south, and the red waterweed on an irrigation channel on the Tolderol Reserve near Milang is offset by the startling blue of the water and green of the vegetation. But I’ll leave it to you to decide whether or not the overexposure adds to the overall ‘artistic’ colours and composition …

Yes, there’s a fine line between abstract art and photographic error!!

Capturing early morning light through the refractions of dew drops dangling from grasses, trees, flowers, leaves – and yes, even reeds – has been done to death, I know.

But not by me!!!

Cliché or no, I AM quite proud of the tiny corner of Lake Ainsworth near Lennox Head in Northern New South Wales I’ve made my own. The abstract refractions of a light breeze rippling the melaleuca reflections in its tanin-stained late afternoon waters beneath a blue BLUE sky is one of my favourite photographic AND artistic moments.

With the possible exception of this unintentionally monochromatic shot of eucalypts reflected in the iconic Snowy River – which I’ve named ‘Black Poles’ in homage to renowned abstract expressionist Jackson Pollock and the Australian connection to his iconic ‘Blue Poles’!

I’m sure you can see the resemblance!

Right??!!

Thank you for allowing me these few moments of self-indulgent artistic pretence!

If you want to read more about ME, head over to Pretraveller where you’ll find my interview with the FABULOUS Anne!!

The post Australian Watercolours made EASY! appeared first on Australia by Red Nomad OZ.

The Australian landscape has provided the inspiration behind many creative and artistic endeavours.

Others, on the other hand, produce blog posts about Australia’s Scenic Public Toilets.

BUT … there are those who capture the essence of OZ by creating artistic installations that reflect and define the local landscape.

Central western Queensland’s Blackall harnessed this creativity in 2007 when metal sculptor Richard Moffatt created three art works as resident artist at the local festival.

‘Eagles Nest’, down by the Barcoo river, is a self-explanatory representation of Wedge-tailed Eagle – or ‘Wedgie’ – Australia’s largest raptor. Travellers are more likely to see this magnificent bird on the side of the road helping itself to some fresh roadkill – or soaring high above on the thermals looking for its next meal. Anecdotal evidence even blames the Wedgie for newborn lamb disappearances! Which of course casts it in the role of enemy.

So this sculpture depicting it in a parenting role shows a more accessible aspect of the Wedgie’s character – even if this trait isn’t always one readily accepted by a farming community.

My psychic powers are not yet strong enough to divine the artist’s true intent – but isn’t there something universal about depicting a foe in a more friendly light?

Or is that just me??

The post Aussie Outdoor Art #1 – Blackall, Queensland appeared first on Australia by Red Nomad OZ.