Publications
Migration, Memory, Landscape: Re-contextualising personal experience through Contemporary Abstract Painting
Migration and Sense of Place: re-contextualising felt experience through creative practice
Migration and Diaspora: Reflections on studio praxis as a means of translating personal experience into material form to re-establish a sense of place and identity
After before White Rabbits: Poems and Memories
A Long Road Home and Other Stories
The Dead End of Culture
Greetings From the Irish in Australia
Migration and Sense of Place: re-contextualising felt experience through creative practice
Migration and Diaspora: Reflections on studio praxis as a means of translating personal experience into material form to re-establish a sense of place and identity
After before White Rabbits: Poems and Memories
A Long Road Home and Other Stories
The Dead End of Culture
Greetings From the Irish in Australia
Adapted from After before white rabbits
From behind barriers we wave them off, America, some place new. A bigger part of nothing smaller that the incidental I was already a migrant taking tiny steep steps towards a journey that was yet untold... Looking forward, looking back, through time and space I move to the constant beat of ancestral pool [pull] never knowing always looking for the break in the road, the place in-between.
[Aunty Jean lives in America, 1966]
She stares animatedly at the reflection, waiting, in triplicate she sees in herself all that she needs. Embodied treasure lies behind grey green eyes; and so, she jumps into the void that is home and for a short time sees again herself as new. She comes to the mirror, not for fortune but to be alone and escape the silence of interruption. Never far, over too quickly, too soon silence returns her, home, where she fails to recognise the treasure that is her.
[Recollections on being three]
Course smell, Royal Stewart feels oddly,
Soft, against crushed pelt.
As natures milk ebbs silently down a valley of skint cheeks; Biding a last fare thee well.
Resplendent lace shines brightly
Din light sound lashing, discordant tunes.
Bonnie lassie “Will ye no come back again?
[Leaving Home, 1991]
From behind barriers we wave them off, America, some place new. A bigger part of nothing smaller that the incidental I was already a migrant taking tiny steep steps towards a journey that was yet untold... Looking forward, looking back, through time and space I move to the constant beat of ancestral pool [pull] never knowing always looking for the break in the road, the place in-between.
[Aunty Jean lives in America, 1966]
She stares animatedly at the reflection, waiting, in triplicate she sees in herself all that she needs. Embodied treasure lies behind grey green eyes; and so, she jumps into the void that is home and for a short time sees again herself as new. She comes to the mirror, not for fortune but to be alone and escape the silence of interruption. Never far, over too quickly, too soon silence returns her, home, where she fails to recognise the treasure that is her.
[Recollections on being three]
Course smell, Royal Stewart feels oddly,
Soft, against crushed pelt.
As natures milk ebbs silently down a valley of skint cheeks; Biding a last fare thee well.
Resplendent lace shines brightly
Din light sound lashing, discordant tunes.
Bonnie lassie “Will ye no come back again?
[Leaving Home, 1991]
