Pirrin Francis, Quiet Breathing, 2018, Constance ARI, images by Alexandra Hullah

When I first moved to Hobart I found myself alone, and with a lot of time on my hands. Days stretched out before me, and the time, once full of possibilities, became stifling. There is a loneliness to beginning again. Twice severed now from my hometown, and all the securities and connections there. The thought of starting over was exhausting. Let alone the days, I looked for something to fill the evenings. Like a beacon from my childhood, calling to me across time, without much prompting I downloaded every episode of the nineties television show ‘Charmed’. I watched this show weekly in my school aged years, but haven’t thought of it much since. There is something undeniably comforting in watching something familiar. The home you are missing you create in your living room, immersing yourself in story and character development. You rent an environment you find comfort in, and it protects you from the environment you don’t belong to yet, and that doesn’t belong to you. Evenings spent in the company now of three young witches, some questionable outfits and bad relationships, we battled our demons together.

It takes a certain experience of time to feel connected to a place. An amount of time, or how it is filled, and the way you spend your time amounts to how you spend your life. Establishing connections with people, with actions and with your environment, but also with who you used to be, reminding yourself of how much you have grown and how much you have changed. Those nights watching Charmed for me was not a waste of time. Nothing, no matter how trivial, done meaningfully ever could be.

Days stretch out before us and we fill them with small actions. Small actions performed with thoughtfulness can pass away the days. Meanwhile, we dream away the nights.