Pink Lake

The crackling crunch underfoot, my labored breathing and the pinkish patterns of salt (that I kept thinking of as ice) hypnotized me and I found myself trudging great distances tapping out a haphazard rhythm on a little drum to accompany me. The lack of obstruction meant I could keep in visual contact with the others and our sounding began to feel as if we were helping the lake to generate its own sound with us. Our movements in relation to each other were somehow informing our sounding, and our soundings were somehow informing our movements, which although detailed seemed vast and slow. Something was being brewed up that was more than just random movement and sounding but I am unable to art


Wimmera River, Dimboola. As I was collecting objects I realized I was moving further away from the group. Gradually the sporadic clanging of the bridge being sounded receded, yet I did not feel I had left my co-performers. There is no official marking of a performance consciousness as we come and go, from whatever this space is, as we feel. I felt and I knew the threshold into performance had been crossed and even with my co-performers out of sight and earshot I still felt a connection as a participant.


At Anthony Pelchen's property (co-host and co-organiser) near Quandong. There were plenty of strange and particular sounds being offered up to the starry night. I had found a bone, which I discovered made quite a screeching scream when dragged forcefully across fencing wire. I was hearing sounds of people running, intermittent radio static and chatter, things being dragged on the dry earth, distant yelling voices, low mumblings, the source and location of these sounds a mystery in the darkness, yet somehow there was a sense of intimacy and focus even across significant distances. photo Elnaz Sheshgelani

Natimuk Festival

Our work was all outdoors and free to occur when the time was right, enabling us to coalesce when, where and in whatever format and groupings we chose. photos Dur-é Dara


We came across Rod Cameron's residence, an oasis of abundant green in the golden dusty grey, chock full of ornaments, figurines, flowing materials, ponds, little pathways, incredible array of plants and flowers, two dogs. He gave us a little tour as I gradually descended into illness and the others generated a performance into the evening. He left us to continue as we wished while he went off to work. Such generosity and hospitality to people he did not know. photo Elnaz Sheshgelani


At Simon Fisher's artists retreat/home in Minyip, a rambling long-duration event evolved in Simon’s garden amongst his sculptures and projections until some of us had to depart for Jeparit to sleep. A perfect early summer evening spent doing what we love. photo Elnaz Sheshgelani


First stop on THIS Ens. Wimmera tour, Watford House, Avoca. I found the socialising and performing co-emerging in a very easy manner. Some guests indeed found their way to contributing to the performative energies by singing, reciting poetry, or wandering through the bushy environs. It was a very gentle time that drew a particular expression of energy from the environment, guests and performers. The next day I helped a man cut down a tree that needed to be removed from next to the house. It felt somewhat like a continuation of the previous nights event, enhanced by the lunch and returning guests comments on how enjoyable their experience was. Gratitude to co-performer/host Lyndal Jones who m

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I acknowledge that I live and work within, and am a temporary custodian of land that belongs to the Wotjobaluk people. I pay respect and homage to Wotjobaluk elders past and present on behalf of all GAIP participants. We also acknowledge and pay our respects to the original inhabitants of the lands we pass through during our performance collaborations and do our utmost to care for these places.