The coastal and estuarine waters of Tasmania are both constant and ephemeral – constant in our lives as island people, yet we experience only a snapshot of water’s traverse over our island’s ever-changing landscape. Our island is both still and solid, the crag that we cling to; but still the tides ebb and rage, the waves erode once-familiar shorelines and geological time marches on.
On a sailboard I have visited a few of these reefs and islets and I imagine the precarity of reaching one of Tasmania’s sea stacks – stone towers that arise from deep bays, evoking a sense of remoteness and wilderness, of memories and myths. This sea stack near Waterfall Bay has the presence of a spiritual site existing in the liminal space between land and sea, between sea and sky. As I view the towering sea stack I imagine myself sailing in close proximity, weaving closer to the monolith while a GPS signal follows my trail. What would it feel like? Where would the wake of my board appear as I cut through the water? Digital and painterly images may have more permanence than this monolith, entering the age of the Anthropocene.
Oil and acrylic on Canvas