I returned to Hobart to live a few years ago. I had lived, studied, loved, learned, struggled in Sydney for 29 years. I left Hobart in haste in 1983. Great haste. Like many young people, I wanted to fly the coupe, leave the sometimes claustrophobic scale and familiarity of Hobart. I returned, usually annually, to visit my mother. Hobart, and in fact Tasmania, occurred to me as a slow time lapse during these years. I was emotionally disengaged. I only kept in touch with a couple of friends. My convoluted, chaotic dreams about the houses and places and people I had grown up with became more real than my flesh and blood memories.
This series is about reconnecting to place. It has no grand narrative. It is empirical evidence to myself that I actually live here, now and that it is real.
