Sometimes, you don’t need words to tell a story. Every day, nature tells us colourful and interesting stories that if you look closely – these stories reflect us (humans), and the way we are.
A few years ago, with other artists in Melanesia, I was invited to create artwork in memory of a Melanesian hero, Jean Marie Tjibaou who was assassinated in New Caledonia in 1989.
Above was a doodle of two ink drawings that I worked into two larger pieces for the exhibition. Read more on Tjibaou Cultural Centre here. This link provides an excellent interview with Emmanuel Kasarherou, Cultural Director at the Tjibaou centre.
I just found the drawings tonight, while going through some boxes from the storage. The ink on the left drawing was smudged from some water drops. Otherwise, the two images were still intact. The drawings brought back the story of this amazing man and an architectural phenomena that was built in his memory. You can Google both – a lot has been written about the man, the Kanak movement and the building, designed by Italian architect, Remzo Piano.
Briefly, Jean-Marie Tjibaou (January 30, 1936 – May 4, 1989) a son of a tribal leader, was also the leader of the Kanak independence movement and a politician in New Caledonia. I have visited this cultural centre more than once and would recommend it to anyone travelling through New Caledonia. It is a beautiful space.
Omoru Church – Yokohama
Pictured above is the Omori Church. Built in 1959, the church was designed by a Japanese architect, a friend of a friend of mine. The church is in Yokohama, Japan. Notice the large space – created by exclusion of poles that we normally see holding the beams and the ceilings in the centre. Instead, concrete walls holds everything in place. The construction started in April, 1959 and was completed in October, 1959.
The church needed to replace an old wooden chapel, built in 1922. My friend Kah Wah, an artist who is based in Singapore often reads and participates on the Tribalmystic blog. On Cool Stuff, I posted pictures of some beautifully crafted churches and this story sparked an interest in Kah Wah to share the beautiful Omoru church with us. Unfortunately, we were unable to find the name of the architect who had been in contact with Kah Wah some years ago.
“The church was part of the projects designed at the R.I.A. Institute of Architecture (translation from Japanese to English). The chapel has been constructed specifically without poles to obtain the space.
The Omori Church belongs to Nippon Kirisuto Kyoukai; English Name “Church of Jesus Christ in Japan” (Protestant church, Reformed and Presbyterian ). The Omori Church was established officially in 1915 after about 10 years mission activities by foreign and Japanese ministers. Sadly, the number of worshippers has decreased each year. So far, the average number of worshippers recorded in 2016 is 54.”
If anyone reads this story and knows the architect – please share the information here. Thank you Kah Wah of this beautiful picture and story. Click on Kah Wah’s name to see some of his beautiful artwork.
Super Moon
The most talked about November super moon is here. You probably can tell that I am fascinated by the moon, as I am about many natural wonders. In my culture, the moon affects many things including the seasons for gathering, the way people think and behave and also how it affects other living things.
Tonight, we started at our house, then the neighbours, searching the skies for the moon’s appearance. Then, my mother and I drove to the end of our street. We saw it rising, making the sky an endless ceiling of beautiful pink sheet with patches of baby blue clouds. After we watch it rise above tall leopard and wattle trees, we drove near the Brisbane River and through the gum trees in Bellbowrie, QLD, the large bright yoke creeped gently higher and hung over the water, throwing a shimmer as far as they could go.
The moon was quite bright and extra-large as predicted, so if you have not seen it yet in Brisbane – get outside your house now. It should be around for another night. My camera is not superior enough to capture this wonder, but here are some images I took this evening in various locations in our neighbourhood.
To my friends: Sue Coletta, I hope you are not disappointed with the pictures. And Kah Wah Tan – I have to tell you, it is a good clear night in Brisbane for howling.
Brisbane residents
The Dead and the Living – Photography
A study of the red lily from my garden. See if you can tell which flowers were photographed at in the evening.
Oswald died. It was four hours after Oswald’s sibling died. My son pronounced him dead about 6:30pm, but with disbelief I had to turn the duckling several times to make sure he was not just asleep. I had nursed him on my chest and we slept for two hours earlier. He seemed fine, eating a little and drinking water. He stood up and walked. But, he could not settle into the nest where the other duckling had died hours earlier. I change the bedding and kept his little fluffy body with me.
He had been named Oswald by Nathan (my older son). Nathan decided that the five-day-old duckling who lost 11 siblings and parents the night before should be called Oswald. The name carried strength and depicted something or someone showing tenacity for life. I agreed immediately to Oswald.
“The duckling is very brave and strong”, Nathan said.
Oswald was one of our duck Penelope’s first babies. She had 12. We decided to leave the ducks alone when she introduced the babies to our family last week. ‘Let them grow up wild’ was what we all agreed on because Penelope was house-bred. She taught them to eat, swim and play each day last week. The pond was busy.
Earlier Sunday, and not used to quietness from the water, I went out to investigate. I found the once happy flock dispersed in a mud of desecrated fine feathers, duck poop and small white floating dead bodies. My heart was in my mouth as I walked about, trying to find them all. Penelope and her Stalker husband had gone. One mutilated corpse was on the child’s table we left for the ducklings to dry out from the pool. It became clear that something bad happened on Saturday night. At that time, five ducklings went missing and since the parents had fled from whatever it was, the remaining ducklings died from the cold. While searching I heard some soft cries and found Oswald and his brother pinned into the side of the pool, both shivering in the water they used to swim in. I called Nathan for help and we took the ducklings to the house and made a soft box and tried to feed them. Only Oswald ate. Then the two snuggled up and slept. The smaller of the two ducks was very weak. In less than two hours it died.
After the other duckling died, Oswald jumped out of the box and refused to sleep. We took turns nursing him until I fell asleep with the duckling on the couch. It was dark when I fed him again and placed him in a warm bed. He fell asleep straight away. At 6:30pm, Chris checked the box and told me the duckling died. Given the way the duckling had shown courage and bravery, it was not easy to accept that Oswald’s life would have ended the same way as his eleven siblings.
Tribalmystic Stories 
