I started work in a tactile sense on ‘my caravan’ today. When I say I mine I don’t mean it belongs to me, but is the caravan that I almost unwittingly manoeuvred into becoming a shell for an artwork I am creating as part of ‘Museum of the Long Weekend’ – the project which I am also elbows and knees and neck deep in producing, and feels like taking a needle and thread to the whole of Australia and stitching it all together with a road trip.
Being actually in the caravan for a few hours drawing and writing ideas down, taking measurements, unscrewing screws and screwing them back in again, I realised that I’ve been sort of ignoring the vintage caravan aspect of this whole vintage caravan project. I’d cast them as vintage shells for vintage human stories, and not so vintage humans too. But wow. This Sunliner has more going on inside than cupboards. It’s called ‘The Fossicker’ in script black writing on it’s pale teal rounded fibreglass exterior, and inside is all style and molded function, heaps more pale teal and subtle grey polka dot Formica, a neat unit, albeit flaky and fragile with age. “The magic’s in the detail” is about to have a whole new meaning tomorrow when I get busy with the sandpaper.
Also today, I had a chat to a friend with whom earlier in the year I had high fived and made a pact to be in a ‘baseless’ club, celebrating our modern advanced awesomeness and ability to surf wild and free on the point breaks of international favours and opportunity fields. We liked bitching to each other about the un-enlightenedness of people who asked us endlessly where we were ‘based’ and sighed when we had to tell them it was complicated, wishing that people could be satisfied to place us in the moment in space and time. But today we ruminated on the desire for home, and I pulled Alice Springs back out of the cupboard and let her dance her millions of veils high school hip hop dance routine before me, stroking my sense of belonging with her sunshine, ultra lifestyle and fucked up and attractive dysfunction…
The artwork has had a name for a long time before it had form and will be called ‘Finding the Real U’ and northwest Tasmanian op shops have been fruiting hard with objects that belong to the true fossicker. Not to mention the Big hART Wynyard office art supplies cupboards.
I was saying to people last week or maybe the week before that life, post epic depressive melt down, post cautious extended recovery phase and post anti-depressants was filling up with self-affirming events that indicate I’m on the right path. People seem to be nodding at me, the puzzle pieces are clicking and there’s a sense of justice about it all. Like maybe I did my time [for now?]
And, I realised today that a major cause of my homelessness, or as I usually see it, multiple home syndrome is this art project which is all based around these MOBILE HOMES, one of which I have the feeling I’m about to grow very attached to. Click.

Categories: Uncategorized