Daily Archive

She lives in the south of Africa. She has the same name as a well-known Australian artist. She’s mistaken for her, but, she says humbly, “I’m just another Robyn Gordon.” She wrote me about a month ago, another victim of insomnia. She was lying awake and got up to drift across the Internet, hoping to find something inspiring.

She found my blog. She read an entry about creativity, another about failure. Her own life has its burdens, and they seem bigger at night.

She read an entry about meaning-making and decided to give art another try. Then she wrote me. I wrote back. It was a short exchange. I didn’t want to frighten her, and after sending a few emails she didn’t answer, I thought I might have scared her off. Damn. I hate it when I do that.

Tonight, I got another email from her. She has returned to her art. Each time we leave the studio, there is the risk we will not return. It’s a decision each artist makes every day. Robyn has chosen to return to her art. Make meaning with it.  It’s a huge step. I asked if I could see her work. Sure, she said, and sent the photo here.

My life isn’t about me. It’s about connecting with other people, people I don’t know, and finding out that creativity helped them make meaning of their lives. How wonderful that the world does not have to exist without this incredible art in it. No, I had nothing to do with it. Robyn Gordon made all the decisions and did all the work. But I am so glad it was my blog she read because I got to see this wonderful art.

She’s given me permission to publish it on my blog, and I’m putting it here as well. Thank you Robyn, for your art and for showing up in the world. (c) 2007 Images, Robyn Gordon. Text, Quinn McDonald.

Darryl and I often said that our life, over the past seventeen years, had taken on the quality of being on a roller coaster. There were so many adjustments we made, changes that were necessary as we faced one crisis after another. Our trip to Europe in 2001 was the ultimate roller coaster ride. We hired a car and 45,000 kilometres and six months later arrived back in Paris. We never had one forward booking because we said that if we did not know where we were going we could not get lost.

During those last days in Paris we caught the train and visited Paris Disneyland. Over the years I had steadfastly refused to go on roller coasters and I can have panic attacks if I am so much as ten feet above the ground. I recall crying because I did not want to ride the cable car up to the famous Ice Caves in Austria but Darryl coaxed me and I am so glad that I saw that wonder of the world.

So it took Darryl totally by surprise when, like a crazed woman, I insisted we go on all the rides at Disneyworld. I was not overly impressed with the place and it was simply a matter of extracting value for money.

The ride was spectacular to say the least. Happily we were in the dark but the camera caught it all, captured so perfectly our life, our roller coaster ride.

Needless to say this photograph took pride of place on the alter in the room on the day of Darryl’s funeral.

Heather Blakey