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The Territory of the Little People - Storm Clouds Approaching

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  The Territory of the Little People - Storm Clouds Approaching The atmosphere over Pine Creek churns before it breaks. The sky stops being a distant ceiling, and tears open into a fevered, gestural vortex, churning in fierce ribbons of cadmium gold, raw ember, and bruised ink. Here, in the suffocating stillness of the build-up, the heat plays violent tricks on my inner eye. As the squall gathers, the twisting ironwoods and fractured ridges don't feel empty; they crawl with the uncanny belief of the Little People, low-slung, watchful phantoms spun from wire, red dust, and dry static, waiting out the road's fragility. Every jagged branch and swirling filament of cloud becomes a face, an arm, a sinister presence breathing inside the rising storm, drawing the traveller deeper into the delirium of the interior. Pine Creek Storm Front Torn black filaments of wind and shadow seemed to claw straight out of the atmosphere, dripping down like hot tar, twisting through the spindly ironwo...
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Jingili Water Bug

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Jingili Water Bug

From behind a sacred figurehead
Return from objectivity 
Return from functionalism 
Return from disciplinary power

Move towards subjectivity and genuine ideas
To find states of mind within the disorders 
Of fidelity
Of passion
Of paganism
Of earthliness

This internal world
Of no plot
Of no absolutism
Nothing that is incontrovertibly true

Unpretentious
Of mutual interest 
Of mutual understanding









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