The wattle blooms in winter
Contemporary Art Tasmania 2019
handmade perfume, black wattle, blotting paper




The scent of bush wattle, once sweet and wild, is bottled and divided.
Our hearts break.


The scent of bush wattle settles on our wrists.
We sometimes find strength in small things.


We wear our defiance beneath our sleeves.










Artists often work by thinking through objects; teasing out the many associations that a substance might hold to those things that their minds are concerned with. Going through the motions of making this perfume brings up questions for me about the place I call home, about ownership and belonging; about connections lost, and broken family lines; about the mistakes of the past, and the mistakes of the present. The question of identity, or of a national identity, constantly redefined.
Am I the people or the land, separate to or part of something?
Was this the best thing to do with a sprig of wattle?