Today is a Saturday and after my jog I drove into Bathurst. First stop is always Hub for brekky/brunch and I was reading the letters between Sunday Reed and Joy Hester in my solitude (a book from Haefliger’s library) feeling very bohemian. I shopped at the art store, farmer’s market and then poxland before heading back to HE. Darren and Shaye were visiting me this weekend so we went to History Hill. What a bizarre and overwhelming place. The deconstructed town has been assembled within its dark underground interior. The rusted spooky collection of 19th century artefacts are punctuated by witty labels and additional effigies created by the assembler(s) that lend a 20th century local humour to what are extreme contrasts between male/female, Western/Eastern and the lone corner of a cabinet dedicated to the Wiradjuri that feature the most hideous neck shackles I have ever seen, their origins – the African American slave. I took over 100 photos and so there will be two image installments. A couple of notable items were the carved pipes and large locks. An installation of scales is a formidable sign of the gold rush town.
Published by Vanessa Barbay
Laomedia visual artist and drummer View all posts by Vanessa Barbay