Canola Fields, Ballarat-Ararat
Wheat Silo's, Approaching Dimboola VIC
Little Desert NP, Dimboola VIC
Putting my boots on in Polly the Kombi, Little Desert NP, Dimboola VIC
Ebenezer Mission, near Jeparit VIC
Wheat fields and big sky, approaching Rainbow VIC
Abandoned house #1 near Yaapeet VIC
Abandoned house #2, Lake Albacutya (dry) VIC
Hanging Rock VIC
Designing a house for two generations in Brighton is a funny thing.
Brighton is a non-place. Some of the 'tuscan/georgian/greek' homes are reminiscent of a Whiteread work. Negative spaces mapped out in solid rendered concrete in one colour - mostly beige/sand/cream.
There is no way to tell if anyone is home. There are no open windows or curtains pulled up or pushed aside. The cars are neatly stationed away behind roller doors or down below in the bowels of the houses. Near the cellar. By the boat.
The infamous beach sheds sit on the bay but a short distance from the streets where these people live. But there is no indication that the water is anywhere near. Not even a squark of a hungry seagull.
I hope I can make a building that speaks of this space in-between beach and suburb. A tactile and loose arrangement that acknowledges its place.
Not an Edwardian home that has a roof pitched for snow.
Or a Villa with no eaves, no shade, made for an arid desert storm.
Brighton is a non-place. Some of the 'tuscan/georgian/greek' homes are reminiscent of a Whiteread work. Negative spaces mapped out in solid rendered concrete in one colour - mostly beige/sand/cream.
There is no way to tell if anyone is home. There are no open windows or curtains pulled up or pushed aside. The cars are neatly stationed away behind roller doors or down below in the bowels of the houses. Near the cellar. By the boat.
The infamous beach sheds sit on the bay but a short distance from the streets where these people live. But there is no indication that the water is anywhere near. Not even a squark of a hungry seagull.
I hope I can make a building that speaks of this space in-between beach and suburb. A tactile and loose arrangement that acknowledges its place.
Not an Edwardian home that has a roof pitched for snow.
Or a Villa with no eaves, no shade, made for an arid desert storm.
Last weekend I wandered around bemused at the fact that there is suddenly green on all the trees and the apricots are beginning to show in amongst their round fruit tree leaves. I have been walking around blind to the fact that world has continued moving, warming and growing.
It was still winter in my mind. Clearly it's almost summer and two months have escaped from my clutches.
It was still winter in my mind. Clearly it's almost summer and two months have escaped from my clutches.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)