Imprint of a Landscape: a Yarrawa Brush Story
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University of Wollongong Theses Collection University of Wollongong Theses Collection University of Wollongong Year Imprint of a landscape: a Yarrawa Brush story Ruth Roby University of Wollongong Roby, Ruth, Imprint of a landscape: a Yarrawa Brush story, MCA thesis, Faculty of Creative Arts, University of Wollongong, 2007. http://ro.uow.edu.au/theses/15/ This paper is posted at Research Online. http://ro.uow.edu.au/theses/15 IMPRINT OF A LANDSCAPE: A YARRAWA BRUSH STORY A thesis submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the award of the degree MASTER OF CREATIVE ARTS RESEARCH from UNIVERSITY OF WOLLONGONG by RUTH ROBY, BCA Hons FACULTY OF CREATIVE ARTS 2007 CERTIFICATION I, Ruth M. Roby, declare that this thesis, submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the award of Master of Creative Arts, in the Creative Arts Faculty, University of Wollongong, is wholly my own work unless otherwise referenced or acknowledged. The document has not been submitted for qualifications at any other academic institution. Ruth M. Roby 21 November 2007 Abstract The Yarrawa Brush landscape, situated on the Robertson Plateau just above the Illawarra escarpment, has long been a place of solace and connectedness for me, documented over the years through intensely worked etchings. My immersion in that specific landscape over time, and my research into the Aboriginal and white settler history has left an indelible imprint on my sense of self and an awareness of loss. As Allen Carlson has noted, three of the major art-philosophical texts produced over the second half of the last century have neglected the Aesthetics of Nature. Focusing on the field of environmental aesthetics, this thesis argues for the value of experiencing the natural environment. It situates my etchings and digital video in relation to work by colonial artist Louisa Atkinson (1834-1872), who resided near the Yarrawa Brush district at the time of early settlement, and contemporary artist John Wolseley (b1938). Acknowledgements Many thanks to Aboriginal Elder Val Mulcahy, who was raised on a mission in La Perouse, for her time, generosity and encouragement. Val’s grandmother was from the Gundungurra Aboriginal people of the Southern Highlands. Thanks also to Kelvin Lambkin, Sydney Catchment Authority, for his first hand information on the archeological dig at Wingecarribee Swamp; also to Pat Hall, Manager of Education, National Parks and Wildlife; and Beth Boughton, National Parks and Wildlife, Fitzroy Falls, for their knowledge of local Aboriginal Sites and history. Last but not least, many thanks to my supervisors and teachers at the University of Wollongong over the course of my candidature, especially Sue Blanchfield, Diana Wood-Conroy and Richard Hook for their generosity in time, expertise and patience, and to my technical assistants, especially Robin Douglas, Didier Balez and Brent Williams. Contents Glossary of terms 5 1. Imprint: a Personal Perspective 6 2. Loss and the ‘Impenetrable’ Yarrawa Brush 11 3. Environmental Aesthetics and the Value of the Natural Environment 16 4. Nature and the Art of Louisa Atkinson & John Wolseley Louisa Atkinson 23 John Wolseley 29 5. My Work Etching 34 Process and Materiality 38 Video 39 6. Conclusion 45 Bibliography 49 List of Plates 56 Glossary of Terms This page sets out meanings as they are prescribed in this thesis. Environmental Aesthetics: one of the two or three major new fields of Aesthetics to emerge in the second half of the twentieth century: it focuses on philosophical issues concerning aesthetic appreciation of the world at large. (Allen Carlson 423) Immersion: the state of being deeply engaged; absorption. Natural environment/landscape: descriptive term for a site which is predominantly of natural origin, but not necessarily untouched by humans. Objective: Free from personal feelings or prejudice; unbiased. Subjective: pertaining to or characteristic of an individual thinking subject; personal; individual. Imprint: a Personal Perspective. “My connection to nature and to wilderness always involves the idea of death as well as life. We think of wilderness as kind of bursting with life, which it is, but it’s also full of death.” (Australian cartoonist Michael Luenig, Film Australia’s “Wilderness”, introduction) When I say “imprinted on my sense of self” – what does that mean? Over the twenty seven years I have lived at Robertson I have been to the Robertson Nature Reserve hundreds of times. I have been there in the morning when the mist hangs in the air and shafts of sunlight pierce the canopy to highlight the brilliant lime-green of a fern, or the moss-draped edge of a twisted, half-rotten branch. I have been there when the wind blows and the patches of light quiver and move restlessly, exposing, then covering the details like a moving picture show, and the wind sounds move in a similar way, and clusters of spiderwebs glisten and sway in the sunlight. On cold, wet days the rain drenches everything including me, and I have stood as the rain washed over me, seeming to take away all else. After the rain the fresh fungi sprout forth, amazing in their variety of shape, texture, and size - in colours from cream to green, brown, soft purple, pale flesh-pink, coral, apricot - even a bright, glossy red. There are the common types that I recognise easily, as well as the unusual – more fascinating because of their rarity. Some fungi I have seen only once, and searched in vain for another over the years. Fig. 1. Ruth Roby. “Fungus Cluster on Fallen Log”, 2007. Digital photograph. I have glimpsed the sudden flashes of bright red and cobalt blue as the rosellas flit back and forth collecting for their nests, their raucous chattering and screeching interspersed with the lilting melody of kurrawongs and magpies, and the less-frequent sharp whip- crack of the whipbird. I have listened on soft moonlit nights (aided by a small torch to avoid tripping), when the only sounds were of the dew dripping from leaf to leaf, or the plaintive cry of a night bird, or an animal softly scratching in the distance. I have viewed the reserve through a child’s eyes - and children have the happy knack of seeing what we might have missed. Like a tiny, heart-shaped leaf skeleton, a fascinating insect, or a crop of minute fungi growing half inside a rotting log. I noticed the vines gradually snaking upwards, stealthily twisting and squeezing their hapless support until it rots away underneath, and the marvelous, massive curtain becomes too heavy and falls, bringing down all with it. Fig. 2. Ruth Roby. “Vine Curtain Swathed in Moss”, 2007. Digital photograph. Once when I was hurrying along the path (noisily because it was getting late and I had things to do) and I happened to notice something out of the corner of my eye. Two large brown kangaroos sat bolt upright and perfectly still, staring at me from the undergrowth, their ears pricked. They regarded me for some moments before bounding off - out of sight in just a few leaps. I marveled that they managed to move so swiftly, surefooted and graceful on the thick, unstable undergrowth. I had usually only seen kangaroos in open grasslands, and the reserve is surrounded on all sides by urban development. In recent years I have become much more aware of sound intrusion from that development. Sometimes, the natural forest sounds are almost drowned out with sounds that jar in that environment - cars, trucks, planes, the steam train coming in to the station, dogs barking, children shouting, even jazz from the local pub on Sundays. These sounds are becoming more and more insistent with increased population and more tourist traffic. It has become much more difficult to be alone in the reserve, and I find myself deliberately arranging my visits for times when I think it will be less busy- like when it is windy, cold, rainy, or late in the day. And every time I have been there the forest has changed. It is in a constant state of flux, growth and decay - life and death co-existing. I watched my children grow up and, through their experiences with nature, develop a natural sense of wonder and respect. Even in my darkest moments, I could still feel pleasure in the reserve. Some exquisite detail would capture my attention, distracting me with its wonderful strangeness - yet familiarity. For me it was as an affirmation of the continuation of life in the presence of death, enabling me more acceptance of the same in a human context. I immersed myself in the forest for hours at a time, yet those hours seemed like minutes. My experience in the reserve shaped me in a way nothing else could. It has become an indelible part of me, like an old friend, and I would feel the loss in a similar way if it was destroyed. It has imprinted on my sense of self. Loss and the ‘Impenetrable’ Yarrawa Brush Fig.3. Ruth Roby. “Yarrawa Brush Landscape” 2003. Computer-manipulated photograph. I cannot think of the Yarrawa Brush without acknowledging great loss. The Aboriginal word ‘Yarrawa’ – meaning greedy, voracious, shark-like (Organ 476) aptly described the vigorous growth habit of the original Yarrawa rainforest. Prior to white settlement, the Yarrawa Brush was dense primeval forest, considered virtually impenetrable. The Empire newspaper in 1856, for example, described the area as the “thickest jungle in the colony” (Mills and Jakeman 31). This view is supported by surveyor Robert Hoddle’s description of the Yarrawa Brush; “ I commenced to encounter the most formidable brush I have seen since I have been in this colony. It abounds with every species of prickly brush, vine, bramble and nettle.