DO NOT PRINT
“ a erecnis H dna , a n d a faithfulEye, toexamine,and to record, the thingsthemselves as th e y a p p e a r ”
ROBERT HOOKE | MICROGRAPHIA|P.VIII
Robert Hooke’s Micrographia: or Some Physiological Descriptions of Minute Bodies Made by Magnifying Glasses, published in 1665, embraces the beauty in the minute*, the on-the-surface mundane, and seeks to evoke curiosity outside the confines of familiarity. Aided by the early microscope, he introduced people into the whimsical micro-world through the art of careful observation.
Personal documentation and letter-writing of anything between the mundane to internal conversation, physically incarnates a compendium of events, feelings and ideas that inspires mental processing and connection between writer and reader.
This publication explores the importance of connection and observation through a typographical and decorative mimesis* of nature and its abstraction.
adjective extremely small infinitesimal microscopic
mimesis: minute:
noun the process of imitation or mimicry through which artists portray and interpret the world
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The causeway across Eureka Creek always takes me by surprise. I am driving on the Burke Development Road on Cape York Peninsula up in Far North Queensland. It runs west from Mareeba in the hills behind Cairns, to Normanton on the gulf of Carpentaria. At its start, the road winds through eucalypt woodland, cattle paddocks and tropical fruit orchards. They used to grow tobacco out here on soil weathered from ancient granite and fed by water pumped from the Walsh River. But now the tobacco plants have been replaced by mangoes and lychees - and the water from Lake Tinaroo is doled out through the networks of irrigation channels. Just past Dimbulah, the road swings south and dips toward Eureka Creek. And the causeway appears, a pale ribbon only a metre and a half above the water. I still hold my breath as I drive across.
Beyond the creek, the landscape rumples into low hills of granite and rhyolite. There are no orchards here, no irrigated fields. Flag-eared cattle saunter through townships. They wander across the road, unconcerned by my approaching car. I pull over to let them pass. They're in no
hurry and neither am I. A wedge-tailed eagle flies low to see what’s going on.
Nothing much, I tell it.
Close to Chillagoe, the scenery changes again. Jumbles of grey limestone line the road. Tall trees thicken around the base of the outcrops, and far along the rocky spines, skinny stems are silhouetted against the sky. There are kurrajongs with bark like hessian, figs that twist and curl to fit against the rock, and coolamon trees that look as though they have been dipped in bronze and polished.
North of town, across the creek that drowns the road in the Wet, is a place called Mungana. It was once a thriving community were gold and copper were mined, and Abdul Wade’s camels carried ore and coal between mine and smelter until they were replaced by traction engines. In 1990, scandal over Mungana cost Ted Theodore his political career.
Now little remains. The towers of limestone at Chillagoe and
Water built this landscape and water sculpts it.
Mungana were laid down on the floor of a tropical ocean many years ago.
The rocks are tattooed with the swirls of ancient corals and shells that lived when ferns covered the land and animal life was hauling itself out of the sea. The Earth twisted, slipped and tipped the terrain on its side. Standing here is like standing between the pages of it's life story.
My palm pressed to the rock, I feel the warmth trapped in its matrix and the sharp edges honed by rain. These towers are cane knives jammed handle-down into the dirt.
When I exchange that big, sun-bleached sky for a cave carved out by rain and flood, the world looks barren. But on the walls of the cave are tiny snails and patches of white web — spider or fungus? — like fabric laid out for a quilt. Extinct animals linger as bone fragments consolidated in the rocks. They will stay there, suspended in time and space, until water wears them away. People have lived in this place for
Nature reclaims its space, if not its time.
4 THE LONG
WAY AROUND
millennia. Their images, painted on the limestone, are made with materials shared by the Earth. They were and are and will be.
The limestone islands emerge from a sea of spear-grass, hibiscus and yellowflowered peas. Locusts fly with clicking wings. A frilled lizard scuttles up a termite mound. It presses it's belly against the warm adobe, collar flattened against it ’ s shoulders, watching me through halfclosed eyes. It waits until I leave. I have to leave.
Red dust rises in the distance, kicked up by a road train’s wheels. The dust hangs in the air like smoke on the horizon.
From here, the Burke Development Road heads across Cape York Peninsula, along the southern bank of the Mitchell River, through low woodland and tall savanna. At Dunbar Station, the road peels away from the water and meanders towards Normanton on the Gulf of Carpentaria. You can get to Normanton on the asphalt if you like, through Mount Surprise, Mount Garnet and Georgetown, where you can eat and drink and sleep beneath an air-conditioner.
Or you can go the long way around.
5 BRONWEN SCOTT
A gentle breeze fans over my shoulders, cooling my sun-warmed skin. It’s a supportive touch, reassurance that she's listening.
“I’ve changed a lot since I visited last. Life got sticky for a while. But I’m on the other side of it all now.”
It’s strange yet understandable that the words don’t snag in my throat when I talk about this with her.
She is calm in the steady throb of the treetops pulsing in tune with the wind.
She is understanding in the way her once-burnt shrubs have sprung anew in vivid green.
She is warm in the sun soaking through my jeans — a maternal embrace to remind me that I am safe when I'm in her sights.
I curl my arms around my legs, thighs tucked against my belly and cheek pillowed on my knee.
“I missed you.”
The solid feeling of home in my chest whispers that she missed me too.
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TALLOWS / ALEXANDRA SHAW
loyalty, happinessforloved one s , c h gna e
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DAHLIA Dahlia Pinnata
STAMPS
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AUSTRALIAN POSTAGE
Handwritten letters offer rare tactility and permanence.
Planted beneath ink and paper is a physical manifestation and gift of time, thoughts, and a sharing of the oneself in a profoundly loving and thoughtful way.
“I can only note that the past is beautiful because one never realises an emotion at the time.
It expands later, and thus we don't have complete emotions about the present, only about the past.”
Give into pulls of spontaneity*, recollect moments of the past. Give part of yourself to someone else, even yourself, write with the other person in mind.
VIRGINIA WOOLF diary entry 18.3.1925 noun
spontaneity
occurring by impulse or without premediatated thought
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DEER ANTLER
Cervus cornibucs
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COAL AGE
trunks budded and scarred summer experience on the loess edge of the morraine fallings out between the elders
beautiful forestations of made language put fort a little finger on the tip in composite relief the damselfly structure exacted a storm floats over the purchase neither you nor I neither one of us
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EMILY
WILSON
VAINGLORY MORNING
In the atrium
The statues grow Life moving slow as sundials Faces blind Even when the painted eyes Of their subjects blink
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The tears away and light Slanting from the transom window The morning vainglory gold But the marble Translucent as a sign
13 CS HUGHES
HOOKLINESINKER ANNE-MARIE
right wrist loose brow flick chin you are still way too close
a w a y fling again further
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go back more more go on still still past swells past stars past memory no compass TE
WHIU
take your fingers off the map clock hands know noting a time of -o-c-t-o-p-u-s- and trickery slithered horizon after last wave beyond your name
return every shell rocks have eyes bait a weighted reel paddle towards high tide — untethered worn waka swallow ransacked fear
prime blow brings sunset reds purples follow black halo pink to brown nettle kawaka myrtle crush them quick rub in deep d de del dele delet delete
deeper than that and wait for it
but not the one about how you got home in one piece
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SNOWFLAKE Nivis
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Snow in the of the vine in the traceries
of the lilac breaks down in loose chunks that are pitting the they fall into whose rule is now lateral pendence of now hitched now struck under inside is the African violet strain of the almost magenta recessed
I think what the substance urged into
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EMILY WILSON EVENT
thoughtfulness, beautyand ch ar m
COOKTOWN ORCHID Dendrobium bigiddum
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Liberation.
Written reflection offers a space to understand our thoughts and feelings, achieve our goals, foster empathy and self-confidence, and spark creativity.
VIRGINIA WOOLF
letter to ethel smyth 28.12.1932
“My own brain is to me the most unaccountable of machinery — always buzzing, humming, soaring, roaring, diving — and then buried in mud.
And why?
What’s this passion for?”
Intentionally embrace the tasks and moments where you are incredibly passionate, and completely immersed in, and able to naturally silence the mind ’s usual chatter.
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when home calls I scale the escarpment brace myself for the arms of kin that will catch me by blooming waratahs — Country's red heart and totem who've withstood the drought and climate change estrange from the resistance other spirits have met persistent on opening up time and again — here the Ancestors speak in flowers and we've been gifted the power to understand them —
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BLOOMING
KIRLI SAUNDERS
TREE EVERLASTING Ozothamnus ferrugineus
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HOOKE'S OBSERVATIONS & DESCRIPTIONS
MOSS
the wisest of Kings thought… unworthy a most perfect vegetable
intricate basket-work IVORY
FLEA
adorned with a curiously polished suit of sable Armour beset with multitudes of sharp pins
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MOTH
tufted in curious feathers resembled small vimina or twiggs, a small twig of birch
SPIDER
nimble huntress web thin strung on a Clew of Silk
ROSE-PETALS
embedded with jewels clusters of pearls
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FIRE, FLOOD, SILENCE
Walking along a salt-and-pepper sand path, a wing shaped shadow passes over me, barely a whisper in the sky. When the sea eagle's shadow falls on me, I feel as though I have been blessed. The Shoalhaven can be deep grey-green or swollen brown but relaxes as it nears the river-mouth, spreading out into shallow stretches of postcard-blue. It rushes between gorges upstream, watched over by the sandstone cliffs as it flows through Nowra.
Along the river are secretive places; caves and clearings, gum forests and paperback groves, orchids clinging to rock walls. Winter rains come and pound on the roof night after night. Flood rain, everyone says, has its own sound. The sky is weighed down and bursting. When the rain stops, there is a sheen of light on the water's surface as it
drains away to the sea.
They sit there for a long time, wailing out their loss before lifting off and flying away.
Returning the world to silence.
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KATHY SHARPE
KANGAROO PAW / CLAIRE MIRANDA ROBERTS
Moth-like pigment weighs upon the rhizome - the division of extremities under the pain of frost change colour rapidly before falling dormant interior and oblique
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FRENCH HYDRANGEA Hydrangea macrophylla
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o f c o ur s e your’ e an gry
c a p r i ci ous l i ttl e grouch
b a n n er i n a rioti n gwind
s t a r v e d f or someth i n gunk nowntoeveryone
i t a k e th e l ong wayhomeandfindyouthere, one
s u r r ounded b yth e sloughedribbons ofmy body
you'll accept prayers untillunch the foxfloves from the pond skaters thinking yourself someomnipotentgod watch as you eddythetadpoles
A GROWING THING
28 s c e n t awas h in green r a k ing a t tree bark knees a g r o w ing t hing i t ’ s y o u rea l ly in t he murky water a n d t he mason jar
/ SAVANNAH BROWN
you ’ re a relic of a soil-buriedepoch phosphene-drenchedkaleidoscopeofdays ,
days whichyawn so deeply they wrap roundtheotherside too dizzying to loveanywhere but from a distance
metallic ring ofbirdbones: banner in a riotingwind by blades of grass,same still flowering,samebaby -wristsencircled together? she’swrong . and how,then,caninotpiece my se l f ba c k t a k e m e wi t h you ,finished thing
( m y f a c e yourh and s )
y o u s mil e l i k e swell i n gyellowspringandplead
w h en we meet ihold yourfaceinmyhands so how can i not look at myself— — how can i not look at myself and love her, too?
(in the reflective universe behind our house, off the silver-tinged powder of august haze)
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RELINQUISHMENT
/ ZOE KRABBE
The sun shone her last rays onto us, into us, before she closed her eyes; the moon opened hers.
We all stood, silent, to greet her upon arrival.
We stood in the clearing, bare feet anchored into the sand. Bellies, filled with static, muffled by the leaves dangling overhead.
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formlessness, mystery,stabil i t y
SEA URCHIN Heliocidaris Erythrogramma
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LOVE POEM FOR A MOUNTAIN / EMMA GIBSON
You are familiar to me like the jut of ridges, or pressed my lips to your skin.
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a lover's hip and yet never walked my fingers over your afraid to get too close You are too lofty for me. I admire you from a distance,
I have
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The most powerful thing I've ever held in was the truth.
I let it dance around my tongue like a sour wine you can’t wait to spit out when no one’s looking. I’d write it down in soft words that sounded prettier than the harshness it was made up of.
The most frightening thing you can do is be honest with others, it has the possibility to show what you’re failing at, what’s not accepted, what’s looked at with disdain. But you can't hide from it, though we certainly try. If honesty was an easy practice, I wouldn’t sweat over it like a sickness.
But like anything we’re bad at, you can learn by trying over and over and over again.
FORTH GOES THE ROAD
/ CHRISTIAN WATSON
In-between these moments there is a lot of self-recollection that I strongly urge is practised among everyone —
not that I know everyone needs or even wants it, but I do believe it’s necessary.
The difference being that I don't know it for certain, this was the challenge I faced: ignorance.
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cheer fulness, comfort , celebrat or y
GEBERA Gerbera sepals
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HELLO
ASK ABOUT
hi, hello how’s it going? greetings good day! dear dearest my dear my dearest what’s up? salutations what made you smile today? long time, no see work things their project the weather their pet their family study their houseplant home
busy busy busy swell kicking goals working on my hobby lost in a book cooking up a storm on an adventure studying learning about myself taking up a new skill watching film listening to music driving around hello I love you congratulations I miss you get to work felicitations! thank you you got this
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A GUIDE TO LETTER WRITING
I'VE BEEN
I WANTED TO SAY
WHY
it’s your birthday you’re on my mind
I had some time you’re invited it’s been a while I have a story let’s meet up see you soon that’s all talk soon apologies over and out cordially your favourite my best take care
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SIGN OFF
HELLO
ASK ABOUT
hi, hello how’s it going? greetings good day! dear dearest my dear my dearest what’s up? salutations what made you smile today? long time, no see work things their project the weather their pet their family study their houseplant home
busy busy busy swell kicking goals working on my hobby lost in a book cooking up a storm on an adventure studying learning about myself taking up a new skill watching film listening to music driving around hello I love you congratulations I miss you get to work felicitations! thank you you got this
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A GUIDE TO LETTER WRITING
I'VE BEEN
I WANTED TO SAY
WHY
it’s your birthday you’re on my mind
I had some time you’re invited it’s been a while I have a story let’s meet up see you soon that’s all talk soon apologies over and out cordially your favourite my best take care
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SIGN OFF
HELLO
ASK ABOUT
hi, hello how’s it going? greetings good day! dear dearest my dear my dearest what’s up? salutations what made you smile today? long time, no see work things their project the weather their pet their family study their houseplant home
busy busy busy swell kicking goals working on my hobby lost in a book cooking up a storm on an adventure studying learning about myself taking up a new skill watching film listening to music driving around hello I love you congratulations I miss you get to work felicitations! thank you you got this
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A GUIDE TO LETTER WRITING
I'VE BEEN
I WANTED TO SAY
WHY SIGN OFF
it’s your birthday you’re on my mind I had some time you’re invited it’s been a while I have a story let’s meet up see you soon that’s all talk soon apologies over and out cordially your favourite my best take care
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The footsteps of Nature are to be traced, not only in her ordinary course, but when she seems to be put to her shifts, to make many doublings and turnings, and to use some kind of art in endeavouring to avoid our discovery.
ROBERT HOOKE
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