where I document my practice, what I have been seeing and experiencing in the arts, what I am ruminating on, life events too…

Reflections from Kira O’Reilly’s What if this was the only world she knew? And reflections from a two-day workshop


21 October at East Perth Girls School


-an auditorium, a walkway, a pile of dark brown soil and green glitter sparkling in the darkness

-a woman walking, sometimes in a long grey dress, sometimes naked, sometimes wearing a long green glittery dress of sequins with green glittery high heels

-a small room off to the side with three microscopes. Under the microscopes: three eggs. Alive. Beating hearts. Embryos (I think?). You can see blood vessels. (looking at them I feel slightly nauseous?)

there are many, many questions. There are no simple answers. Or simple solutions. There is just this: a woman embodying and disembodying, materialising and immaterialising before us. I don’t know what she is doing. I don’t know what is happening. I don’t know what is required of me. In short: I don’t know.

And this is a deliciously confusing and wonderful place to be in. (as a spectator, as a participant, as an artist, as someone observing and trying to piece together this bizarre spectacle).

Kira O’Reilly seems to float. She is suspended above the dusty air in this (now defunct) school auditorium. The people around me are silent, an intense attentive watchful silence.

I invent stories in my head of who these people are, why we are here…

We are here because all of Perth and western Australia has flooded and drowned and we are the last survivors left, here with this grand priestess, this majestic queen… Or perhaps this auditorium is the Noah’s Ark of the 21st century?


Sometimes the woman picks up a mirror and holds it to a bright light. She turns it around and it is like the sun is born again in this too-big hall. The sun changes positions, sometimes above, sometimes next to…

Sometimes the woman speaks into a microphone. The sounds are not English or a language that I recognise. But she picks up a piece of paper as if reading from it, like giving the survivors from the deluge the rousing speech they need. It’s like she is attempting to find language, searching, grasping for meaning.