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Artist Chat

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Artist Chat A monthly segment where Rodney Williams and Jeff Thege talk with one of our local Artists.Play this month’s audio or browse archives and play previous audio files. This month the Artist chat features Gary McPhedran from the WAS…

Warragul Arts Market

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last Market for this 2023-2024 Season is 20th April . For all information see Arts Market page here

Hiding in the Bird Hide

by TONY STEVEN WILLIAMS Despite summer’s glare, it’s twilight in here with a faint but not unpleasant woody smell. I sit on the bench, pull up my binoculars, focus across the wetlands at black swans:  a family feeding in the…

Mulligans Flat

by TONY STEVEN WILLIAMS  On the rammed earth of this dam wall, I rest my backpack, look across the water under gentle summer twilight. Something sad  yet glorious about those drowned gum trees. Their silver-grey skeletons stag-horn above the gleam…

Storm on the Hay Plain

by TONY STEVEN WILLIAMS  Those high ridges of red gum, hugging the Murrumbidgee near Narrandera, long banished from the rear vision mirror. An occasional stunted tree stands up, untidy as an unplucked feather. Wire fences etch meaningless boundaries across a…

Words of intimacy

by RODNEY WILLIAMS for K & R & I In a paper bag from a pharmacy he gives a bare biography where Gurney as poet-composer finds no peace in notes dug from trenches counting out measures in an asylum. In…

Reunion – tercets on triangulation

by RODNEY WILLIAMS  on geometrical pavers in an urban garden she offers her pair of guests Italian torte – keen to host since such time she hastens in sketching her lifelong lines of work mixing psychology with dance as therapy…

Training ride

by RODNEY WILLIAMS hill-based training ride     highway one water bottle full     tyre pressure right                         solo run today     tête de la course lanterne rouge too     red tail light                         ute out front    …

Morning Squander

by LYNDAL TURNER I remember how it was to stand, a child on the cracked concrete stoop of the old shed, arms up like blinkers, glad hands buried in the sky’s blue. Tractors would come and go; trucks with bellies…

Hay Season

by LYNDAL TURNER The slow boil of summer dusk, a blood red sky darkens and drains to black behind the precise silhouette of trees and the outline of hay; rolled, wrapped and stacked along the fenceline. In the distance, low…