An ode to water

With my residency disrupted somewhat by other projects and overseas travel during parts of 2019, I set out to reassess my research to date. It became apparent that my site-specific filming and photography had unintentionally drifted away from the river itself and for the film I sought to develop as a conclusion to my residency, I wanted to directly capture the elemental and sensory qualities of the body of water that had been the catalyst for my research. Paying a visit to the bend in the Maribyrnong around the Heavenly Queen Temple and Newells Paddock Wetlands Reserve in Footscray, I spent time filming the changing surfaces of the river up close and the plant and birdlife that surrounds it. Further to this, I began thinking about ways of referencing aspects of the river that are an embodiment of the change and disruption brought by human intervention, specifically the accumulated effects of European colonial occupation. The result was an experimental essay film, or film poem, titled ‘Ask The River’, which attempted to express my learnings about and observations of the river, my reflections on Australia’s colonial legacy and resulting environmental destruction, on human and non-human perspectives, and on the natural systems that are older than all of us. A fitting, watery conclusion to my residency.

Residues

Two later visits to the Maribyrnong River Viaduct undertaken in April 2019 focused on the wasteland that lays before the southern end of the bridge. Previously encountering this site in wintery conditions meant access was very limited, but upon returning during two particularly warm autumn days it was possible to make our way on foot. Refuse of all kinds seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see, with scraps of plastic and metal glinting in the sunlight. Discarded household junk mingled with car bodies, batteries, pipes, tyres and electronic remnants. It was a grim sight, made especially strange by the stillness in the air and the absence of any other sign of human life. I recorded individual objects and the strange tableaus of rubbish that comprised this damaged landscape, with the occasional rustle of plastic, the click-clicking of grasshoppers and the persistent hum of traffic on the Western Ring Road largely the only accompanying soundtrack.

Image 1: by Alan McGregor, 2019

Groundwork

I had the opportunity to exhibit Basalt Mirror at the Living Museum Visitor Centre in the exhibition Groundwork, curated by Museum committee member Matthew Davis, as part of Melbourne Fringe in September 2018. The premise of the exhibition was to offer new perspectives on the Museum’s archives and their relationship to the lived and natural histories of the western regions of Melbourne, including artworks by current artists in residence as well as committee members. I enjoyed the chance to spend time with all the works while sitting the exhibition one Saturday, working on my research and meeting the occasional Museum visitor.

Image 1: Exhibition poster, entry to the Living Museum
Image 2: ‘Basalt Mirror’, 2018
Image 3: Installation view featuring Carly Fischer’s ‘I feel the earth move under my feet’ (fragment), 2018, in foreground, and Raafat Ishak’s ‘The West is the Best’, 2018, in background
Image 4: Installation view featuring Benjamin Woods’ ‘Beeswax Flutes’, 2017-present
Image 5: Installation view featuring Kerrie Poliness’ ‘pink painting pipemakers park’, 2018

Fleetness of foot in a restless environment

Basalt Mirror traces the excavations and overgrown topography of the redundant quarry site mentioned in the previous post, and during the process of exploring and filming the area I thought about the plants that thrive in disturbed and hostile environments, usually in the wake of human activity. I could see the dried seed heads of artichoke thistles, clumps of boxthorn and straggly patches of prickly pear all throughout the site, to name but a few of the invasive species I recognised by eye. As Alan and I made our way to the base of the Maribyrnong River Viaduct, we also startled dozens of rabbits along the trail, sending them scurrying into low-lying shrubs. We even spotted a fox, and I caught a domestic cat on film as it froze momentarily upon our approach. But we also glimpsed an amazing array of native bird life, including lorikeets, parrots and cockatoos, and what I think might have been a tiny flame robin. We met a couple walking their dog along the trail, and they asked us if we’d caught sight of any wallabies on our travels, another cohabitant of the area. Flora and fauna of all types seemed to be making the most of the former quarry, adapting to and occupying a site that has been deeply altered by industry. I wonder where these species will disperse to once the ecology of the quarry is demolished as part of the impending housing development.

Image 5: View of a tiny dot of red amongst the artichoke thistle seed heads, which I think was a male flame robin
Images 6 and 7: by Alan McGregor, 2018

The beginnings of a film

On the same day we visited the Maribyrnong River Viaduct, by chance we drove to an area that later became the site of my film Basalt Mirror (2018). On our way to the eastern end of the bridge, we took a road that we thought might lead us directly there. In fact, the road ended at the base of a street of newly developed housing, beyond which lay a long stretch of semi-wilderness that was only accessible on foot. We got out to take a closer look and upon following various overgrown trails came upon an abandoned quarry, filled with deep green water. The terrain was difficult to traverse at times, full of steep hills and mounds (presumably the remnants of past mining activity), but I really liked that the landscape resisted easy passage. Seemingly left alone for some time, flora and fauna had reclaimed the whole area. I later read that the site was slated for development and felt a sense of urgency around returning to film what I could while it still remained accessible. A week later a newly erected sign indicated that the area was soon to become ‘River Valley’ and the beginnings of a cyclone fence had been installed. We slipped through the fencing to capture the footage that comprises Basalt Mirror, perhaps at the very last opportunity before building work commenced. I have not since returned to the area… I can only imagine it will be radically transformed. It seems rare to find a place where natural phenomena remain unchecked and uninhibited in the urban realm, and I feel fortunate to have briefly experienced this wild patch of scrubland surrounding the Maribyrnong.

River recce #3

When visiting Solomon’s Ford with Peter, we ran short of time to explore another nearby recommended site of interest, but Alan and I made a return trip a few weeks later. The Maribyrnong River Viaduct or the ‘Quartermile’ bridge (as it is also known, in reference to its length) was built in 1927-1929 and still serves freight trains today. At the time of its construction it was the highest bridge in Victoria, and now second only to the Westgate Bridge.

We discovered later that it is possible to walk from Soloman’s Ford to the base of the bridge via the Maribyrnong River Trail, however Alan and I first viewed it from the top of the valley. We accessed the northern end of the bridge via a series of suburban streets which eventually gave way to a small grassy park, leading to the edge of a steep plateau and an expansive view of the bridge. This vantage point allowed a full sense of scale; the twelve steel-framed supporting towers are immense. I liked the way that there was no boundary separating visitors from the plateau, meaning that you can peer down to the river below.

I was intrigued by the junk gathered around the base of the bridge. Two workmen walking amongst the foundations had a ute parked higher up on a dirt road on the embankment opposite us, suggesting it was possible to gain access to the same area. In our efforts to reach the other side of the valley via car we came across a site which would form the basis of the first film made during my artist residency and I will return to this in a forthcoming post.

We could not get close to the southern end of the bridge as the area is largely blocked off by a cluster of factories and building sites. However, we were able to see it from a distance after following an adjacent road to its end, arriving at a patch of wasteland that felt eerie and ruined, dotted with rubbish and discarded car parts. The weather added to the strange atmosphere, with grey skies and intermittent rain pressing close around us as we sank deep into pockets of mud. And yet it was remarkable to hear the calls of frogs in the air, originating from a small stretch of water that had gathered in a recess. The calls seemed to harmonise at times, moving in and out of sync. This gentle but pervasive soundtrack reminded me once again of the way the natural world makes a life in our shifting urban spaces.

References

Rail Bridge (Albion Viaduct), Victorian Heritage Register, Heritage Victoria, 1999