One Year and One Day

Naming works is usually a struggle for me, and this one in particular.  Through the making of the work I sought to acknowledge the forgotten people at the periphery of official history who had been on the island before me, but there were so many it was difficult to encapsulate them within a few words.  One trace of existence which had particularly haunted me was the gravestone of a little boy, the infant son of Superintendent Samuel Lapham, who had lived on the island during the second convict era. I unearthed no other evidence of this child's existence and found it difficult to comprehend that he and his mother were in residence in what must have been a very challenging environment.  Charles Henry Lapham died June 28, 1848.  The footstone of his grave reads "One Year and One Day", notating his age at death.

Artist Statement:

One Year and One Day

This place.  I’ve learnt to read it. I’ve traced the steps of those before me, touched the surfaces they created, devoured their words, burnt their saplings. I’ve reinterpreted the interpretation, hunted out evidence that spoke more truthfully to me, become distracted by traces that speak of small stories at the periphery of official history. I’ve found kindred sprits in those long gone: masters of make-do. And so, with not much more than my hands and the resources of the island, I toil away at repetitive labour seeking to pay homage; to their ingenuity, their resilience, their presence.

The work consists of over 1200 clay pots installed upon a mesh table found on the island. Though the numbers are not accurate (I found it impossible to derive an actual figure) the different colours seek to represent the people who occupied the island in seperate eras.  The brick-coloured pots represent the convicts, the white pots residents of the industrial eras, and the various shades of grey those such as farmers, aboriginals, whalers and government employees.  The clay for the brick-coloured pots was sourced from within the pits used by convicts and these were fired upon the island using a rudimentary firing method not dissimilar to that used by convicts to fire bricks.

The work of making the work

For my final visit to Maria Island I took on the task of guest-posting to the Australian Ceramics Instagram account (daunting, due to their thousands of followers!) So, rather than double up by blogging at the same time I decided share those posts here. They are appearing in reverse order, so scroll from the bottom up.

Press pause

In the period of time between when I came to Maria Island for my pre-residency trip and the middle of last week I have found my attention pulled between the convict bricks that originally brought me here and all of the other small traces of people who have lived here.  At times I felt like I would need to make a whole series of works as an expression of my experience here in order to deal with it all. But I am fortunate to know enough about my own creative process to trust that by sitting with an idea, feeding it and giving it time to distill down, it will eventually emerge in a refined form. There may be more works in the future, but for now I believe I have the core of a solid idea, the making of which will happen during the next phase of my residency later in the year. Stay tuned!

To get to this point, on top of lots of reading, exploring and thinking (and blogging!), I have produce three sets of artifacts which serve as documentation of my time on Maria to date and tests of ideas for a future work.

Central to my investigations into brick production, and to extend my very limited knowledge of native clays (those dug directly from the ground, not manufactured) and primitive firing methods, I test fired some small pots.  In the spirit of make-do, I made small pinch pots requiring nothing more than my hands to form the shape, and fired them by placing them in the wood heater in my cottage. I made two from manufactured clays, one from clay I dug on mainland Tasmania, and two from small handfuls of clay I collected on Maria Island.  I was surprised, and thrilled, that they all survived (I was expecting to loose them through thermal shock), with some even appearing to having reached full vitrification.  It was fulfilling to see the Maria Island clays produce the colours so typical of convict bricks.  If I can obtain permission to dig a couple of buckets full of clay and do a pit firing on the island this will form part of the work I have planned.

While conducting my broad research of the island history I came across a number of illustrations depicting the landscape and built environment: representations and interpretations by various artists across time.  Almost exclusively every person I told on Maria that I was an Artist in Residence asked me if I was doing paintings.  This got me thinking about how artists have many ways of constructing visual representations, not limited to painting.  In trying to work out how I might record what I had learnt about the Brickfields area (my interpretation built on what I had read and what I had seen) I decided to draw a map, marking out the features that most interested me: my representation of the landscape.  I’m not sure what I’ll do with the map yet, but it was a necessary part of my progress towards a larger work and I suspect it will become more significant to my body of work in the future.

Of all of the buildings on Maria Island it seemed to me that the one I am staying in has been overlooked in the history books.  This is understandable as it would be the newest pre-national park building on an island dotted with significant heritage buildings. It is a small, basic cottage located apart from all others, in the sand dune between the Darlington beach and the small lagoon formed at the base of Bernacchi Creek. It is called Prero’s, named after the fishermen family who lived here in the 1950’s.  I have, however, come across many references to a cottage ‘up on the sand bank’, where Mr (or Dr) Cobb lived: a man who filled many roles on the island for more than two decades until 1950. When I saw an image of the Cobb’s place it struck me as odd that the historical records do not draw any connection between it and Prero’s, as the two buildings are obviously on the same site, with a chimney and the main proportions being very similar.  On the wall inside Prero’s is a small pinboard where people have left drawings of the cottage and other items of interest over time.  I decided to gather everything I could find about the cottage and start a perpetual document to which I hope others will contribute.  As Prero’s is reserved for Parks staff, volunteers and other working visitors like me, I hope that the Prero’s story will be built over time by people who have a personal connection or living memory of this modest little building.

For now it is time to leave the island.  I’m going to miss my island home, but look forward to coming back to complete my residency in a few months time.

Otherness

It is the first rainy day I’ve had here today, so it will be a day of reading, thinking, writing and maybe playing with some of the materials I brought with me for such a day.  My husband and youngest daughter came to visit overnight, leaving again on the ferry this morning. It was nice to have some familiar company, but interesting to observe myself, having settled into the pace and ways of life here, compared with visitors who are not consciously disconnected from their normal life. The water heater is not working very well at the moment, making showers interesting and requiring boiling of the kettle for all washing activities: another exercise in mindfulness.  I have resorted to washing my hair in the sink, which I recall doing as a child and getting soap in my eyes!

I’ve read a lot about Maria Island since I learnt I would be spending some time here. A friend lent me some really interesting books (thanks Rob!), I’ve trolled through some in the Rangers office (thanks Pete!), searched online archives and perused the exhibits here in the old Coffee Palace building, amongst others. And then of course there is the Brickfields Precinct Conservation Plan, which has been the most helpful in gaining the understanding I first sought in coming here.

There exist numerous publications that each in turn build upon what was told in the previous, re-reporting the details that paint the bigger picture of place, each adding more detail or acknowledging a previous overlooked story (or potentially repeating a previous misinterpretation).  I have become conscious that what is known now has been curated across time, dependent upon what was recorded, what was retained, what was left out. A literate Irish criminal who was imprisoned upon the island during the second convict era wrote of what he experienced through a particular lens, a French lieutenant who could illustrate as well as he wrote through another, and each feature with more prominence than their less literate companions.  Many historic records have been retained in archives; many more were reportedly lost in a fire in Hobart, to where they had been removed for safekeeping. Then there are the books telling personal stories that historians had not otherwise deemed important and which would have been lost if not for the few who have taken it upon themselves to produce an enduring record.

Throughout these records, and in the artifacts that remain on the island, at the periphery, or woven quietly into the bigger stories, there exist small traces and hints of people whose otherness leaves them almost invisible.  These people, mainly women and children, are the ones to whom I pay respect in my daily practice of mindfulness.  Though I cannot expect to know or convey even a fraction of their stories, I am striving to find a way to acknowledge these people in my work.

The burning question

The big question that drove my curiosity about brick production on Maria Island has been “How did the convicts fire bricks when they didn’t have any bricks to build a kiln?”

As it turns out, I saw the answer to my question when in India earlier this year, but didn’t realize it at the time. 

I had assumed that they might have pit-fired small batches of bricks so as to produce enough to build a kiln for future firings, and that the remnants of this kiln would remain.  After all there are still in existence lots of other structures built with bricks during the convict era.

My early research turned up quite detailed descriptions of the processes used to make other goods, in particular wool cloth, but nothing about bricks.  Similarly, early plans detail buildings for all sorts of activity in Darlington, but I found none that extend to the Brickfields Valley area. It wasn’t until I accessed the Maria Island Brickfields Precinct Conservation Plan (1997) that I was able to make sense of what I was seeing when I walked through this area, and discovered the few artifacts that remain (none of which are signposted or appear on contemporary maps).

I revisited the Brickfields Valley again yesterday and, reinterpreting the maps and some contradictory information in the conservation plan, I discovered the area where brick firing is thought to have occurred.  Only visible once you know what you are looking for, there are two distinct parallel mounds of dirt with scatters of brick breaking through the surface.  It is not unusual to see scatters of bricks in many areas of this island, but these appear to align with the theory that they once formed the structure of a brick Clamp.

A Clamp is formed by building two parallel walls of fired or unfired bricks (stacked, without mortar) tapering up from a broad base, with the interior wall remaining vertical and the exterior wall battered with soil or rocks.  Bricks are stacked in an open weave pattern, with the holes allowing for air, heat and fuel between. Depending on the fuel available, it may be loaded between the bricks (dung, chaff or sawdust) or on top of the bricks(wood).

The kiln I saw in India was a very large version of a clamp, designed in an oval shape to allow for continuous loading, firing and unloading.  It was fueled by fine chaff that was loaded from the top, with the fire moving through the kiln according to where and how fuel was added. This would result in a much more consistent temperature being achieved across the kiln than would have been possible here on Maria Island, as the fuel would most likely have been wood, which would be difficult to distribute evenly.  The variation in colour of convict bricks, while partly due to levels of Iron in the clay, is largely due to inconsistent firing temperatures.

And that also explains why some convict bricks crumble. 

Interpreting the interpretation

I thought I had settled into a routine, but the weather has interrupted that today.  The last two days had been quite mild, and I had spent most of both afternoons out and about until dusk.  Mornings and evenings had been spent reading, writing and doing household/personal chores, taking time to be mindful of my actions, considering what it would have been like to do so here in other eras.  Today it was windy so the only time I went outside was to collect wood, and instead spent time trying out ideas with some clay I brought here with me, and re-reading the Maria Island Brickfields Precinct Conservation Plan (riveting reading!).

Tuesday afternoon I had followed some maps contained in the Brickfields conservation plan and managed to find most of the sites identified in 1997 by the authors.  Walking through and around areas I had previously visited I confirmed to myself that it is easy to misinterpret this site.  There are so many layers of history here that, though quite distinct in timelines, overlap in activity.  Sites were used for the same and multiple purposes at different times, materials were heavily recycled, and though convict bricks are the prevalent building material almost no evidence remains of brick production: at least not to the untrained eye.

All of the structures that are visible to the average tourist as they wander through Brickfield Valley on the way to Fossil Cliffs were actually built during the reign of “King Diego”, aka Diego Brunacci, an enterprising chap who had a claim to parts of the island 1885-1892 (the convicts were here 1825-1832 and 1843-1850). Brunacci seems to have been a visionary, but unfortunately neither his expertise or his bank balance matched his ambition, so much of what he attempted during his seven years on the island turned to failure. 

Having initially attempted growing wine grapes and silkworms, amongst other enterprises, Brunacci moved on to lime and cement. Lime for mortar had been produced in the Brickfields Valley area during the convict era, and with extensive limestone deposits remaining, Brunacci set about mining these along with the shell deposits of Fossil Cliff.  Built alongside the less visible remnants of a convict-era limestone kiln, the ruins of a bank of five limestone kilns, plus a largely intact building know as the Engine House, are the dominant structures in the Brickfield Valley area and are known to have been built around 1888.   Though it is believed that some bricks were produced here during the Brunacci period little definitive evidence remains and it is believed that most of the bricks used in constructing Brunacci-era buildings were recycled convict bricks (possibly from the demolition of the Single Cells in Darlington, which by now had been renamed San Diego!).

With the conservation plan maps to guide me I’m satisfied that I trod in the footsteps of convicts of both the Penal and Probation periods and found where they dug the clay for bricks and possibly the odd flower pot and chimney stack. 

Here’s hoping for better exploring weather tomorrow……

Why Maria?

I have to admit that until last year I had never been to Maria Island (pronounced Mariah by the way). Unlike many Tasmanians my age I had not come here on a school camp, and childhood family trips from Launceston to the East Coast only ever extended as far as a Great Aunt’s shack an hour north at Bicheno.  A dozen or so years ago my husband and I and our kids enjoyed our first ever camping trip just across the water at Raspin’s Beach, sheltered in a beautiful bay that framed a view of Maria, but in those days it was difficult to get here.

A couple of years ago, as a fresh graduate, I created a bit of a plan that would help me build a career as an artist. The five-year goal was to be granted a residency at the Cite International, Paris, which is available to UTAS graduates.  If I am to get there though, I realize I need to build a resume and body of work, and to prove that I know what it takes to make the most of the opportunity.  So, completing an Arts Tasmania AIR in Schools residency (tick, 2014) and a Dombrovskis Parks and Wildlife Residency were part of the plan too.

2015 brought two other projects that pointed me towards Maria Island. 

First, I worked on a project on the Spring Bay Mill site (formerly the Triabunna Woodchip Mill) as part of Ten Days on the Island (a statewide, biannual visual and performing arts festival). This site, and the surrounding community, is in transition from industry to cultural/tourism, and I was one of 7 artists invited to respond to it at this incredibly interesting point of its history.  As I researched and observed I was struck by the traces left behind of people who had been there but were not necessarily acknowledged as part of the bigger story of place – and this place plays a huge role in the story of Tasmania’s recent history. 

Second, I became part of The Marathon Project, which is an ongoing project where a group of people from various backgrounds have been visiting, learning about, and responding to, a working farm and conservation property in the Northern Midlands.  Here I was also struck by the traces left behind by humans, particularly those that elicited a response by Mother Nature.  At Marathon (that is the name of the property) I also discovered a substance called Black Cracking Clay, which introduced me to ‘native’ clay dug directly from the ground. 

At the point of writing my residency application I knew little about Maria Island, but there were two things that I did know that interested me.  I had read that Maria Island was the site of Tasmania’s first pottery and I particularly wanted to know how, but also what, beyond bricks, was produced here in that very early stage in Australia’s European settler history. I was also aware that the island had been the site of a short-lived cement manufacturing enterprise, providing a parallel between this site and the Spring Bay Mill.  Within sight of each other, each with now dormant monoliths on their shores bearing testament to bigger scars left upon the landscape, both of these sites hold traces of stories beyond those written of enterprising men and their machines.

So the pieces had fallen into place for me to be ready to apply to take that next step in my plan. I had an idea, the program assessors supported my plan and here I am.

On an island off an island off an island

I’ve just realized it has taken eight months since being awarded this residency to get here.  Actually, that’s not completely true.  A few months ago I came here for four days to prepare myself: to experience the environment and figure out what I would need to get by and work here for a few weeks at a time.  I’m really pleased I did that now. This time I’m staying for 11 nights, and I’ll be back for at least that long again later in the year.

I’ve done lots of research and reflection on the realities of island life since my past visit, which has brought me to resolve to embrace the limitations isolation  placed upon this islands dwellers over the past two centuries.  I’ve become interested in the little-told stories of people who do not necessarily appear in the bigger depictions of history, and the realities of their everyday lives have become apparent. 

My goal while here is to be mindful in everything I do: of the resources and the processes I use not only in doing my work but also in how I live, and including the waste I produce.  I have enough food to last, but managing it so that none is wasted will be a challenge. There is no electricity in my hut, but it does have basic furniture and equipment, including a wood heater and gas appliances. Thus I am mindful of energy use.  There are some dim solar lights, augmented by the candles and torches I brought with me.  I will be doing my washing in a sink and hoping for a windy day here and there.  I’m not yet sure where my water comes from, or if it is considered scarce now, but I will conserve it anyway in respect for those for whom water was not at the end of a tap. 

As I work I will be mindful to choose materials and processes that honor the fact that those who have been here before me were, by necessity, masters of ‘make-do’.  I have brought basic tools and a few materials, and will devise ways of making that require no more than is available to me here and now.

Sitting here typing away on an internet-abled laptop I’m highly aware of the irony.