Hot February-dark summer’s still Old Harts Mill potent site - then along comes r e a
Harts Mill remnant 19th century flourmill five stories strong on the banks Port River I am small at the wharf’s edge here across the water Kaurna campsites Glanville birthplace and home to Lartelare keeper of the black swans Lartelare from this site with the sun firmly set I face west toward a big sky in shadows I sit watch exhale over dark water my eyes fixed on the Newport Quays Consortium $2 billion redevelopment all lit-up in neon satisfaction high-rise high-density domesticity waterside housing for the rich a glittering neo-colonial backdrop reflecting on this black-night’s river this river…
…this river flooded with story carries memory on undercurrents that pull and twist in surprising directions captures moments drags them down settles with sediment layers of residual voices visions objects stirred and compacted thick mix rich silted mud-like-blood pulsing with dreams past-lives pulsing eroding an inevitable ephemeral change stories roar whisper respond to the force of time they transform upon tides rise and fall with the moon consolidate and rupture to shift then drift currents circulate into new moments seep into past-present-future memories imprint fine-silt your skin a subtle translucent familiar drops of essence spills of blood a trace lingering on an infinity of restless souls…
…black-swan ripples hold my gaze the river swells currents tempt I dive in drink it all dissolve time luring deep-deeper toward shards of light slice and glide a soft sliding fade where sun cannot reach where the surface no longer glistens the quietest-dark but never still these currents churn through inlets-outlets-islands murmur under over and all around I sink deeper my skin chills on memories a decade of protest hand-holding-harmony flag-flying-peace torrent-rage I can hear the Lartelare-Glanville Land Action Group standing strong-with-song on this land and my mouth floods with the voice of a thousand screams there is no fresh-water river here generations of bloodshed and tears drive the tides I open up to taste it all sweet-solidarity salty-sorrow the struggle’s bitter-end we stood strong with Lartelare’s granddaughter beloved elder Aunty wise-friend stood strong with descendants and ancestors against this New Port Quays Consortium development rippling reflecting new neon-light stories under a dark moon with heavy-hearts shimmering lapping floating back to me but here on this land known as Yerta Bulti we are still awake in the land of sleep we are still afloat on the land of grief…
…the land of grief here at this site this hot February night I remember I miss my beloved elder-Aunty-wise friend I float on my imaginings to her together we watch ‘campfires lit up all the way to Outer Harbor… just like fairyland’ no high-rise-neon-light-dreams here only Lefevre-Peninsula-Love on a quiet drift of memories here in this melancholic-moment I am transfixed in a haunting of projections Harts Mill transformed a screening of poetic-visioning I am captured by r e a’s work convinced I am held in that moment so they can appear right here my Nanna and Great-Grandmother they rise from the sediment to drift through black water from another lifetime ago they rise from the sediment prick the fine hairs on my skin brush breathe whisper against my cheek they rise from the sediment their hearts pound in my throat they tell me things like how they ran and they ran they ran away and toward each other to exhale into each other away in search for home.
A response to r e a’s work PolesApart – Tracking, 2011 – single-channel video [7mins] reworked from the original PolesApart series, 2009. This new work in progress was created for the Stop(the)Gap/Mind(the)gap: International Indigenous art in motion, 2011, exhibition where r e a’s work was projected onto Heart’s Mill in Port Adelaide.
