Many years ago, I created a gig as a Café Poet, offering to write short poems upon request. The very first request was from a dear friend’s 90 plus year old mother, who wanted a poem on the theme of Old Age. Being recently admitted to the very junior ranks of eldership, I dashed off a tongue-in-cheek little ditty called “Invisibility has its Consolations”.
It is now several years later, and I am learning the delights of being seen. It has by no means been a straightforward path to this place. My relationship with mirrors, for example, is fraught with primal trauma. Being seen originally was a terrifying exposure. I resist quantum entanglements with this particular memory by chanting to myself lyrics from a Joe Camilleri song: Hold it up to the mirror/ Won't you tell me what you see/Something might look familiar/
But it's a bad likeness of me.
As a dancer, mirrors are a constant in my life. I’ve learned to make my peace with them. They are a tool of the trade, a guide to learning and nothing more. But the desire to be invisible is still strong . . .
It is now several years later, and I am learning the delights of being seen. It has by no means been a straightforward path to this place. My relationship with mirrors, for example, is fraught with primal trauma. Being seen originally was a terrifying exposure. I resist quantum entanglements with this particular memory by chanting to myself lyrics from a Joe Camilleri song: Hold it up to the mirror/ Won't you tell me what you see/Something might look familiar/
But it's a bad likeness of me.
As a dancer, mirrors are a constant in my life. I’ve learned to make my peace with them. They are a tool of the trade, a guide to learning and nothing more. But the desire to be invisible is still strong . . .
 |  Writing this post was kicked off by a most extraordinary artwork I received this week. This gift needs a context. Let me begin with Merlin (appropriately enough, as I seem to be living backwards towards a state of innocent and fearless delight). This was a treasured gift from another dear friend, a writer with multiple talents in other artistic forms. Having learned a love of Arthurian myths from my mother, this ceramic has been a longstanding joy in my life. Recently, my grand nephew has become the Wizard-Elect of the family (deep into Tolkein, Star Wars, drama and dance) and the time was right to pass on what has now become a family heirloom. I wasn't always a writer (I was always a writer) |
There was a time I sought help for the damage, the central symptom of which was a complete lack of faith in my own creativity. I timidly shared my desire to write. It took years but eventually (resisting the compelling temptation to bolt back to the safe invisibility of my log) my numbat persona found its way into the open. I published an article called "Stars with Stripes" in Australasian GEO. This was a significant milestone, of course. And one that was made infinitely more precious by a gift from two sister seekers who had witnessed the courage it took me to emerge into the open. I remember their excitement the night they gave it to me. And my infinite astonishment. They had commissioned a potter to make this numbat for me. It was my first inkling that being visible did not have to be excruciating, that it could, in fact, be exquisite.
Deadly Beautiful
"Stars with Stripes" was just the beginning, and I have gone on to publish poetry and prose, including a non-fiction book on dangerous animals of the world, Deadly Beautiful. And that brings me to the gift I received this week. Another commissioned artwork, from one of the amazing women who originally gave me the numbat. I shake my head at my good fortune at receiving works made by artists, especially for me. Meet "Deadly Beautiful", my ceramic avatar, sculpted by Albany artist Nicci Romanovsky Daniele https://www.facebook.com/niccidaniele/
 | Each lovingly crafted detail is a response to the brief from my friend, which included a picture of me in a blue wig (see Ghosts of the Unfinished Monastery) and a copy of my book. The intertwined snakes, the tiny butterfly, the warrior woman breastplate marked with a peace sign, the native flowers, the shark fin . . . |
Now she lives atop the Cabinet of Devotion with other talismans of my writing life.
 It feels like my soul made manifest. It is an experience like no other to be so seen . . . and so loved. |
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