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(after my last attendance at an ANZSSA conference)
A soft, mild winter day, with an edge in the breeze but enough warmth to welcome bare arms. I take coffee beside the pebble-bottomed outside pool, a small square reflecting a larger rectangle trapped behind the glass wall. Globe-shaped fountains disturb the surface with their constant rain.
The square, austere, grey planes of the building are broken by the sweeps and scallops of umbrellas and shades. At the end of the pool stand large ebony sculptures: blurred, obscure shapes suggest mystical memories. Inside are the shapes and signs of the Dreaming, and at the far end, pelicans, frozen in the awkward waddling of their land selves, are poised, ready to release the sweeping elegance of their flight.
Hard, flat planes of concrete. Moving, flowing scoops of water. Soft curves of plumage and bodies. Straggle of tree and flower beds. Intangible mysteries of time and space encircle the inescapable present. *************************
A leaf drifts onto the table and settles alongside a single, shed feather. A brush of breeze whisks them away, their useful lives over. All things end. All things continue.
© Neil Quintrell 1997/2000. |