Creative Works

https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B0DHYC7VFQ 

A selection of originally autobiographical works, the artwork and poetry in Unfolding the Basket aim to showcase the emotions of healing - The first book showcases work from the positionality of adoption, mental health and spirituality. I hope you find this work healing in the way I found making it to be part of my own healing journey.

He said: “Reason without passion simply cannot be the answer.”

Her response was to shake her head at him and laugh. “Were it not for emotionless passion, the desire for quiescent and laterally formed praise, think how far reason might have travelled.”

He quietened, then rose briefly. “Is it that you mock me? Remember to feel small when you speak to me, for I anger easily.”

She threw up her hands. “After all, what might I know? It’s only a milestone of emotional regulation away. All I’m saying is that perhaps, the objective reality you look for was never ontological after all. And if you know what I mean - if ontological means the truth as defined by the universe, then perhaps that means there must be an arbiter of that truth. But you and your ilk desire to play within the shadows of those who may not be named, while ensuring your shadow falls the darkest. Clearly that is more important to you than ensuring that all may be judged fairly, upon their character and their will.”

“Do you understand the damage you might do?” he said.

“The damage already done by so many before me. That which exists within the veil of self-interest. Believe me, good sir. I desire not to enter the realm of the sacrificial billionaire, dragged upon the pointed barbs of many quivering pens and attention - sharp, bright. This is not who I am, Sam”

“I am though,” Sam said. “I wish for the lights, the pointed barbs of attention. Let the adoration flow, lift me to where the echoes can no longer escape the brightness of the light.”

“Be so good they can’t ignore you? A tactic, to be sure.” She cocked her head, inspecting his posture. “What happens when the light goes home? To exist within the realms of its four walls: the warmth of the fire; the glossing of roast.”

Sam considered. “Then the abandonment creeps in, whispering those thoughts into the void of unknowingness.”

“And providing them in turn, to the world. If you control them, you control their attention. They must adore you - Forget and abandon you? My dear, you must stop.” Rose stroked his cheek. “You must understand you can rest. There is no longer the competition you were set up to believe in. Your world, such as it was, demands difference from you, and has for far longer than you have realised. Who is there to take on that mantle? Who is left?”

Sam’s eyes became downcast. “I fear I cannot provide that difference. I have spent too much of my life training myself to opine. As this is not you, that cannot be me. My heart is thick as a rock and weighed down with sand. My living will is to maintain the fire, but ablaze my fingers cannot be. I doubt what you can do, and yet there is little to say otherwise that each step in this journey through your existence has been part of some greater plan. I cannot go with you.”

“And yet you may not remain here – for here there will be hell, and the drowning of those who wish not to see. Come, though you cannot yet hold flame, and perhaps along the way, once more you might feel the warmth prick through your skin. The awareness of each cell, the throbbing of blood in the arch of your vessels. That sensation of realisation, attachment of semiotic to meaning. You may hesitate upon the brink, as any sanity-fearing individual might, for madness lies far better.”

“You speak about it as though we go to war with Death.”

“Collect your armament, for reason demands passion.”

Starts with two dancers, mirroring actions on opposite sides of a frame. They are dressed identically. One represents self-image (SELF), one is the character of MARCUS. Both pirouette as the music crescendos. He finishes with a flourish as the music shuts off abruptly. 

VOICEOVER (DAMIEN): Not good enough

An older, severe looking woman, JANICE walks onto stage. 

JANICE: That’s coming along nicely. I need you to snap a bit more – be sharper with your movements. This is ballet, not freestyle after all!

VOICEOVER (DAMIEN): Not good enough. Sharper. Snap, snap, crazy boy! Jump to it.

MARCUS readies himself for a repeat of his dance. SELF readies, clumsily. Both begin performing, SELF stumbles, lost for the next movement. Both look at each other in panic and MARCUS stumbles. He slips to the floor and sits, head in his hands. SELF mirrors the pose.

JANICE: Do you want to take a break? Pull yourself together, and we’ll give it another go. I want you at your best for the competition.

VOICEOVER (DAMIEN): Your best? Don’t make me laugh. Do as she says crazy boy. Pull yourself together. 

Both SELF and MARCUS look up as though in pain. They take a deep breath in unison. 

JANICE: I’ll grab a cup of tea, and give you ten, ok?

MARCUS nods as JANICE walks off stage. SELF looks at MARCUS, hands outstretched.

Marcus: What do you want?

SELF rises, prepares the dance and begins. MARCUS looks away, still sitting on the floor.

Marcus: What is wrong with you? You can dance when no one is watching but when it matters – you can’t dance like that when it counts.

SELF stops dancing, and crawls over to the frame. Placing his hands up as though on a flat surface on the frame, he gases at MARCUS. MARCUS looks away. SELF draws his hands down to the floor, despondent, curling into a ball.

VOICEOVER (DAMIEN): You wouldn’t have this problem if you weren’t so erratic. Look at the greats. They don’t care the way you do. You know why? Because they know they belong there. You know you’re not good enough. 

MARCUS: I know I can be good enough. I just need more practice!

VOICEOVER (DAMIEN): But you don’t do it do you? You make these grand plans, and then you spend all your time self-absorbed, navel gazing your dreams away. 

MARCUS: Stop. Please.

VOICEOVER (DAMIEN): It hurts because it’s true. It’s not anyone else’s fault that you can’t pull yourself together long enough to do what you need to.

MARCUS: (yells) Enough!

MARCUS rises, pulling out a knife and walking towards the frame where SELF sits. SELF looks up at MARCUS and flinches away. Marcus takes the knife and makes a cutting motion at the base of the frame.

VOICEOVER (DAMIEN): (laughs) Oh little Peter Pan. You think you can remove your shadow? 

SELF rises slowly and begins to walk away from the frame. At the edge of the stage, he sits, creating shadow puppets on the wall. 

MARCUS: You’d better be happy now.

VOICEOVER (DAMIEN): Well, I’m sure it won’t hurt any more. You’ll be better without him.

The light dims as MARCUS moves the frame away. He turns his back on it, facing the audience. Cue music. Marcus performs a dance flawlessly but mechanically. As he performs, three figures circle behind him – JANICE, DAMIEN and SONYA. 

MARCUS finishes with a flourish. The music stops, and the sound of applause is heard. Marcus turns to the figures, who walk over to him. SELF is still sitting on the edge of the stage, curled up. 

JANICE: Well done! That was perfect.

MARCUS: Yeah, I’m pretty pleased with it. I reckon I’ve got a shot.

SONYA hugs MARCUS. DAMIEN stands at the centre back of the stage, arms folded, glowering.

SONYA: You did brilliantly – I guess all the late nights and missed dates payed off?

MARCUS: Yeah babe, I know! I’m a rising star now.

VOICEOVER(ADJUDICATOR): Attention everyone! We’d like to announce the results. As you know, the beauty of dance incorporates both skill and grace. Passion moves through form, and it was clear throughout this competition that one entry stood above the rest.

MARCUS stands proudly and expectantly.

VOICEOVER(ADJUDICATOR): in our decision, we were unanimous. We would like to award the following prizes for this year’s competition. In first place, Harry Bullon.

Applause. MARCUS visibly deflates, getting angry.

VOICEOVER(ADJUDICATOR): Harry’s performance, was passionate and rhythmic, a display of emotion through style. 

MARCUS: What? But he slipped. Right there, at the end. How does he deserve to be…

VOICEOVER(ADJUDICATOR): Fantastic work, Harry. Now, recognising a performance of incredible technical skill, we would like to award Marcus Moore second place. His performance was flawless and well-executed. 

Marcus’s face contorts. 

MARCUS: How dare he? How dare they? 

JANICE: It’s alright dear, we’ll keep working on it, sometimes they just want a more expressive performance. 

MARCUS glares at her. She backs off and leaves.

SONYA: Marcus? Are you alright?

MARCUS: Leave me alone! 

SONYA: But – I’m here for you, what’s wrong? You did amazingly!

MARCUS: (yells in her face) Not good enough!

DAMIEN steps forward as SONYA runs off weeping.

DAMIEN: Not good enough still. Congratulations. Guess you’ll never get there. Always second fiddle.

MARCUS: Go away Damien.

Marcus looks over at SELF, still crouched. He walks over to SELF and squats down next to him. SELF strokes MARCUS’s face gently. MARCUS stands up, extending his hand to SELF to help him up. 

DAMIEN: You’ve pushed them all away, and for what? You still won’t ever make it.

MARCUS and SELF spin round to look at DAMIEN in unison. BOTH march over to DAMIEN, who flips them off with disgust as he exits.

MARCUS and SELF bring the frame back forward together. They briefly dance with each other on one side of the frame. After a short time, SELF and MARCUS hug tightly, and SELF walks through the frame. MARCUS stretches out his hands towards SELF. SELF faces MARCUS and waves. Marcus waves back, and their movements synchronise. 

SELF and MARCUS dance with passion. At the end of the dance, they touch hands at the frame and press their foreheads together.

MARCUS: Thankyou.

Both walk off stage.

The Frame remains.

VOICEOVER(SONYA): Marcus?

VOICEOVER (MARCUS): Sonya look. I’m sorry. I was wondering if we could maybe make another go at it?

VOICEOVER(SONYA): oh… Marcus.

VOICEOVER (MARCUS): I didn’t prioritise. I’m so sorry.

VOICEOVER(SONYA): Marcus. It’s too late. 

VOICEOVER (MARCUS): I understand.

The click of a handset hanging up is heard. The lights go out.

END

“I never dared dream,” she said. “Why dream when all dreams are fruitless?”

“Why not dream when all life is but repetition?” he answered.