Scriffles: What's a beach sunrise worth?

We walked up to the lighthouse, collected shells, watched huge fish swim near the rocks with schools of whiting. Saw a Kite carry a fish across the sky: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brahminy_Kite   
Saw beautiful yellow-tailed black cockatoos climbing treetops that tower over the beach: http://www.avianweb.com/yellowtailedblackcockatoo.html
Tiny, tiny, little crabs scuttled over the sand. A flock of 10 pelicans flew in formation over our heads in the afternoon. Caught a wave or two, kicked waves into submission. Dug huge holes in the sand. Went to sleep listening the ocean. Went to the beach at dawn by myself. Mum called from the balcony as I slinked out the beach gate. I felt like a kid on Christmas morn being caught sneaking a peek at the gifts before everyone was awake. Great visit. This year has been a record for the past decade I think. I've been to the beach twice this summer already. So many summers have slipped by. Caught a double wave on the boogie board and wooshed all the way to the shore! Yi-i-HA! Didn't watch or read any news. I heard some interesting Mooloolaba news. A local fisherman catches whiting and freezes it in container loads to ship off-shore to be filleted. It's cheaper to do that than pay someone in Australia to do it. Listening the ABC now and hearing that politicians have decided to pay themselves more. Why don't we pay the crabs to dig holes on the beach? They do such a good job. What about paying the mangroves to filter our water? They are better house keepers than politicians. What's clean water and fresh air worth? More than a politician? More than a journalist or a lawyer? As much as a Peace Prize?

<p>Sunrise over Mooloolaba from Lisa Yallamas on Vimeo.</p><p>At 5am there's hardly a soul on the beach to watch the sun come up. By 8am it's like New York's Grand Central Station on a Monday morning. </p>


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Scriffles: Fiona Foley's River of Corn. Or as kids like to call it: The Popcorn Room.

Sydney's Museum of Modern Art has a show by Australian artist Fiona Foley on until January 31. 
Her River of  Corn is real neat. I don't normally use the word neat but its the first word that pops to mind and its wholesome enough to describe the installation.  Children adore it. They browse the large photos feeling corn - yes, corn - between their toes. There's a foot of corn kernels covering the entire floor of the small gallery room. She created the installation for the University of South Florida's Contemporary Art Museum, exhibition Dreamtime, Our Time: The Eternal Circle.
She happened to be at the gallery when we visited so I asked her why. Corn is the staple diet of the native people she photographed in this particular region of the United States. The photos are of herself wearing native American dress. 
The corn also gives viewers the experience of walking through the swamps of the area - and yes, she's aware that this extra dimension makes it a great favourite with children.

 

 

One you've missed unfortunately is the Primavera 2009: Exhibition by Young Australian Artists. I say unfortunately because this exhibition contained another wonderful installation piece by Michaela Gleave called The Raining Room.
It's a darkened room made of timber and plasterboard. And inside is what appears at first to be a projection of rain falling - like rain falling outside a window at night. Except it's not a projection of an image. It's a projection of light through a slit in the wall that catches upon water falling in dribbles from above.  It's a statement about how precious such a simple thing like rain is - and how we're losing it. On the other side of the curtain of rain is an empty space. You can jump through the rain into this space. 
This installation really is precious. In a darkened plasterboard box in the MCA you ponder the beauty of rain and delight in running through it. 

Scriffles: Australian icon. Trees.

All of my grandparents came from China. They were Russians.
They left a snowy country where people wore furs.

Snow melts faster than predicted

They crossed the deserts.
They worked in factories after losing their family businesses in revolutions.
They raised the money to come to Australia.
They sold everything they owned.
Came here with nothing.
They cleared land to farm in western Queensland.
They lived in tin shacks with dirt floors.
They ringbarked giant trees. That's what was done in those days.
Do you know what ringbarked means?
I remember one great grey tree that stood on the farm I grew up on until only a few years ago.
Everyone thinks Australians grow up in the sun.
But don't we actually grow up in the shade?
And for me trees are as much icons as the Sydney Opera House.
And it seems that there are still quite a few ringbarkers out there!
They're ringbarking Australia's future.

 

Al Gore video: Water crisis as cryosphere melts