The Girl From Praga

To the one who exists in the imagination of every girl who dared to love...

A new journey begins…

This particular work was begun a few weeks before my trip to Scotland. It was inspired by the song "Gooserider" by Scottish band Beluga Lagoon. The goose, symbolic of the divine, carries the woman across the seas and into the unknown. The two are tethered to each other by a red ribbon, red being symbolic of life and of luck, and tied with a bow rather than a knot, signifying that both are on this journey, not by force,  but by choice and as willing participants. Either one could, at any given time, release the bow that ties the two together. They are leaving the warmth of the sun behind them as it sets, and heading into the unknown; towards a sky full of the moon and the stars. In my paintings the moon represents the masculine principle rather than the feminine, so in effect the feminine is traveling to meet her masculine counterpart, signifying a union of the two. After beginning this painting, the symbol of the goose seemed to pop up everywhere I looked, both in Australia and throughout the duration of my short stay in Scotland, as if to be a constant reminder that I was not alone. Apart from being a Pictish symbol from antiquity, the month of September was also the start of goose migration season, which I found particularly fitting. The Pink Footed Geese, like me, are not a native to Scotland, but choose to find shelter in Scotland. This painting is a love story of a different kind. It is symbolic of an irrational, but very real love of a girl for Scotland, its land, its rivers, its hills and its seas.

This eternal song that brings peace to my soul,

"You were with me when I was all alone on Ben Lomond;

Commissioned work Acrylic on linen

When I had first planned my trip to Scotland, I had no idea that my journey would end in Pittenweem. I had been made aware of the town through a colleague at work, so I made a side note in my mind and promised to look into it, while I nervously plotted my journey from Glasgow in a clockwise direction. I quickly discovered that the two weeks I had were not nearly going to be enough, forcing me to refocus my trip and to aim for quality of experience, as opposed to ticking off all the boxes of must do's. And so it was that I finally typed the word "Pittenweem" into my search bar. It was like being hit with a sledgehammer, love at first sight. "Omg" I enthused to my friend when I saw him next at work, "your place is so beautiful! Why didn't you tell me?". He looked at me with a knowing, yet slightly exasperated smile, of course he had tried to, many times, but I had not listened. Day after day, my news feed began to be regale me with more and more images of the town, until one day I saw him looming over the breakwater; his arms in open embrace, urging me to come, speaking to my heart...and so a love story was born. I had met "The Beast of Pittenweem."

Sometimes the most simple of things bring us the most peace. Enjoyed my time walking the kelp fields of Pittenweem. Each piece of kelp had its own unique shape and beauty. 

"You will find me walking amongst the fishing nets and along the breakwater, listening to the incantations of the sea, as it fills the space between the rocks by the old harbour. My body has left you, but my spirit roams your wynds, Pittenweem."Before I return to where we left of, and perhaps do a hop skip and a jump to the very beginning, I wanted to talk a little bit about where I am now. Not in my physical body, but in my heart and my soul. My biggest joy while I was in Scotland, or more accurately, while I am still there in spirit, was to be able to walk amongst the fishing tackle and nets of a working harbour, with its smell of fish upon the air, and the sound of freakishly giant sea gulls as they bobbed up and down in the water, or as they rested atop the pier, before being startled by the newcomer, causing a last minute Kamikaze dive towards the water. They always swooped down into the water, rather than flying up into the sky, as if the weight of their heavyset bodies was just too much to bear. The resident seals in the harbour were a pleasant surprise, scavenging amongst the fishing boats; returned with their daily bounty and the setting sun. It was the first time I had ever seen seals in the wild, and like the gulls, these are not the polished looking Sea World specimens that are taught to clap for the audience. These are seals that mean business.I would have to say, that out of all the places in Scotland, Pittenweem felt most like home, though the first night did not come without some hurdles, as my GPS took me past my temporary living quarters, with a non existent internet signal being of little help. My first moments there were rather panicked, as I frantically tried to remember what the front of the building on the website had looked like. I walked up and down Mid Shore; I must have passed my door several times, and yet it seemed to somehow elude me. I stepped back, and walked over to the nestled boats in the harbour, determined not to let the experience worry me. Worst case scenario, I could sleep in the car. I had seen Pittenweem in photos so many times, so I recognised many of the places, the statue of the woman looking out to sea, The House on the Rock. And yet, in the dead of night, my frustration growing at my inability to find my door, it seemed almost as if the town was teasing me, assessing me. Deciding whether or not it should allow me to stay. It knew of my plan you see, that I had not come just as tourist; that I was not there just for the ice cream and sea air, but that my desire was to get to know it, to walk in the footsteps of a history that was not mine; a history borrowed from the snippets of childhood memories of another. These memories were not mine, and I was not a local. Would it embrace me? I considered if I had been discourteous in wanting more. I have always greeted the spirit of each town that I visited, being careful to show my respect. Smiling from the depths of my soul in the hopes that I would be received with a warm welcome. But Pittenweem was an exception. It was the first town I had come across that had held back its embrace, at least on that first night, and at least in those first moments. Had I become too arrogant in my assumption that I would be welcomed? Humbled, and feeling a little rejected, I walked again towards The House on the Rock and back, asking once more respectfully under my breath, "I understand I am a stranger. I am not of your blood, but I come with a sincere heart. Please accept me as a sister, as your own" Finally the town lowered its guard, and released me from my torture. There was my door. I had walked past it, how could I have not seen it? I had found the number before it, the number after, but walked past the very number that had been leased to me for the week.Still feeling frustrated but determined to reset my mood before I lay down to sleep, I ventured outside my door. It could not be, that the place I had been so eager to see and to paint, would be mired in unresolved memories of anxiety. That was when, to the right of me, I heard a familiar accent, one that I had heard before back home from a colleague, and his borrowed memories. I dared not look in the direction for long, not knowing what to expect, the memory of my first moments still fresh in my mind. Feeling encouraged at the familiar sound, I allowed myself to smile. Things were going to be alright. I had come to the right place, at the right time.

Now that I have returned home, I am able to begin the gargantuan task of uploading my experiences. I would like to say that I will have a planned format, but I know myself long enough, to know that spontaneity is my middle name. They may be completely out of order, they may have some semblance of order, but they will in the end convey my experiences, which is all that matters. Enjoy the journey with me.

It’s been an incredible journey so far. My plan had been to post an update every night, but time seems to have a way of slipping away. Currently I am staying in a beautiful place called Rhu, Helensburgh. I spent some time by the Loch (Gareloch) and felt an incredible sense of peace wash over my soul. It felt like for the first time in years my soul could actually breathe. I’m so incredibly grateful to the people here for allowing me to enjoy their home. The Inn is next door to a cemetery with some very old gravestones, some of which date back to the 1700’s. Not sure yet about the history, but will certainly dive deeper into it when I get back to Oz. The Rhu Inn is a traditional pub, the kind where the locals come to gather to watch football, and older couples in their twilight years sit together joining in the revelry. As a female traveller I have never felt more secure than when drinking here. There was no fear whatsoever of being taken advantage of, of having drinks spiked or being overpowered while in a vulnerable state. This is what community looks like when it is functioning in a healthy manner. Am I too old fashioned to be thinking this? Maybe. But I would trade the modern life any day for being able to be a part of such a community. I have no desire to seek happiness beyond the simple pleasures in life. This my friends, this deserves to be protected. The people resting in the grounds of the church gave up their blood sweat and tears to build this idyllic setting. The gravestones proudly proclaim, here lies a farmer, a mariner, the spouse of… this life, this dream, deserves protection. Let’s hope the next generation realises this while there is still time.