Michael and I swept into Gunyah, from the F3 like two pieces of wreckage! Flotsam and Jetsam we may well have been called. Three dozen fresh Karuah Oysters did we arrive with.
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| Gunyah deck - Karin Mainwaring and Michael Ramsden, May 2014 |
The restorative power of this house was immediately apparent. Not only was it peaceful, and stunningly sited. Gunyah is so deeply imbued with a collective sense of good-will, and a near utopian sense of trust, that is difficult for one’s darker self to flourish. Hope flourished here for us.
Our
arrival coincided with an unseasonably warm spell of high pressure weather. The
water and sky duelled over the intensity of their respective blues. The leaves
of the trees barely stirred. The smoke from the BBQ snaked straight up into the
air. The Gin and Tonics slid down.
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| Michael on the Gunyah jetty, May 2014 |
Work?
Michael and I arrived as two deeply committed, but equally disillusioned,
artists. Michael secured himself a spot on the dock and fished. I made a home
for myself, high in the trees, on the sundeck, and knitted. We committed
ourself, fully, in our contemplative activities. We made delicate forays into
each other’s worlds.
The creatures Michael hauled from the deep, those that weren’t returned, made delicious forays into us!
The peace and the beauty worked their respective magic. The house too, offered a magic of its own. Michael’s love of painting, my love of words and writing gained found oxygen. Our love for each other also.
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| Karin's knitting, Gunyah May 2014 |
It
rained on the last night and I was gifted with an image, the end, a piece in
the jigsaw of my baby novel.
Underpinning
everything was the collective endeavour, vision and generosity of the families who came together to build this place. One of them, now gone, lives
on in Gunyah, through the generosity of the people who loved him and made this
residency possible.
Many
thanks,
Karin Mainwaring
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| Michael's squid, Gunyah May 2014 |
