Posted in At Work, Dreams on September 15, 2008 by labyrinthinememory
Its been a few days since I’ve landed in Rome…. I met with my team who are in excellent form (and delivered speclactuar performances for that wild Saturday night).
We’re travelling down to Sardinia tomorrow to finalise a few last things before we begin to dig.
I’ve been having more strange dreams- nightmares actually. Its usually the same thing… I dream about this expidition being a complete and total failure. Sometimes the dream fast forwards in time and I am an old woman with a sinking sense that I haven’t accomplished much with my life. Sigh… its probably just the nerves working their way into my subconscious.
Anyway, it looks like im going to be tied up for a few months… I’m going to be so busy I’m not sure I’ll really have the chance to post that often…
So goodbye for now dear cyberworld…until we meet again some time in the future!!
Posted in At Work on September 13, 2008 by labyrinthinememory
In 12 hours, I’ll be off again… headed to the airport at Rome, where I’m meeting a few members of my team so we can “bond” for a few weeks, while we begin to make preparations for the dig. We’ll be meeting up with the larger crew (administrative, excavational, and labratory) in Kerthoi another two and a half weeks.
It’s been a while since I’ve seen them all, so I’m getting a bit excited…
There’s Mike of course, the loud-mouthed rockstar wannabe. You can always find Mike by following the buzz of his headphones or portable stereo. With quite possibly the worst dress sense in the world, even for an archaeologist, he is great value for a laugh, and suprisingly much more talented at his job than you think he would be.
Then there is little Aisha, whose tiny frame is extremely misconcieving, considering she can work on the ground for over 16 hours. Not nearly as loud as the rest of the team, but what little comes out of her mouth is extrememly intellegent and down to earth. I’ve never heard her raise her voice, but she’s never lost an argument.
Charlie Watkins, aka, Buzz, is the character of the crew. Buzz lives on Red Bull and MnM’s (green are his favourite) and can go days at a time without sleeping. He lives for the moment- motorbike racing, skiing and his other extreme sports are right up there with oxygen. You want a job done, he’ll have it done in half the time. Tequila shots are his weakness and his eyes seem to be permenantly crinkled in them from smiling so much. But get Buzz on a bad day and you’ll see the worst temper come out.
And finally there is Lola and Jeff- the twins. Lola is a genius when it comes to skeletons, and the heart throb for most of the guys in the crew. But a feminist to the core, you’ll never see her flaunt her beauty except on a Friday night in a pair of tight jeans. Jeff is much of the same, except slightly shier than his outgoing sister. The twins are always fighting though- this is sometimes bad for business.
And thats pretty much a wrap for the my ‘inner circle’ of excavtionists. Put them all in an Italian bar or a bowling ally and you have one great Saturday night….
That sounds stupid even in writing- but there it is.
I have a collection of rocks. In this collection is a rock taken from every dig site I’ve ever worked on.
The others are crystal rocks; amethyst, quartz, lapis lazuli, turquoise, obsidian, tigers eye. I love the healing energies that surround these- and the way they look when the sunlight hits them.
The other rocks I’ve collected in many random, and some special, moments in my life.
Sitting by the river that runs through my property. Scuba diving down to the ocean bed of the Adriatic Sea. Out of the wish fountain where I had my first kiss.
A rockpool of stories that just keeps growing.
When you think about it, a rock is a rare anomaly. Like snowflakes, there are no two rocks of the same kind. They are not alive, but they are all natural. Carved out over years by the incessant and tenacious beat of the elements, the world’s rocks are poignant in their raw and uncharted state.
That’s another thing I love so much about my work; when you’re constantly dealing with nature, you are able to gain enough appreciation for the world and all its wonders, that you loose the consumerist mentality that drives the minds of most people. (Although being paid fairly little i’m sure also has something to do with this.)
To finish this post I’d like to include one of my favourite philosophical stories… actually I’m pretty sure it’s a Hawaiian proverb…
When every child is born, it comes into the world with a bowl of light.
As the child grows up stones begin to be placed in the bowl.
Some are placed there by others, but, more disturbingly, some are put there by the child itself.
Eventually the light dims, but it never goes away completely.
Soon the hard work of removing the stones must begin.
The only enemy in this task is fear.
Attention to detail is what I do. Some of the most exquisite things in this world can be found up close and they are more often than not right in front of our eyes.
A perfectionist for most of my life, it has always been a hobby of mine to collect, and take pictures of the small, the intimate, and anything delicious in colour and detail.
Follow the links to my page A World in a Grain of Sand to view a sample of some of these
Having trekked across 21 different countries, crossed at least 15 different bodies of water and stayed in at least 30 different cities, I’ve come to some interesting conclusions about place.
Anywhere near the sea is fabulous.
Anywhere near snow is not so good, especially for an archaeologist.
Anything with grass, or green foliage of any kind is a place worth visiting.
You do not have to travel far to find the exotic.
Summer is the season of happiness.
The city:
Is sometimes scary in that it is so synthetic.
Structured. Angular.
A giant lego land of geometric blocks that, on a day where nothing’s going right, seem to blot out the very sun. In some places, like Mexico City, the air is so stiff with smog that each breath feels like you’re sucking in an inch of dust. The worst thing is being caught in midday smog, the humidity making your clothes stick in sweat to your body…
There are never many trees in a city. They are repaced by concrete in a thousand different shades of grey.
But there are some things about the city that one can’t help but love.
Like when day turns to night, and all the little lights pop on, like giant sea of fairylights; a neon brilliance.
Daydreaming on a train rides.
The collision of a hundred different smells in the one place, brought together in the way that only a city can.
Christmas in department stores.
The collection of people from all different cultures, together, in the one place.
The airport. The train station. The CBD.
The mediterranean village:
One of the most beautiful places to live. Anywhere you settle is close to the ocean.
Growing up on Cape York of Queensland has made me a creature of the heat, and here it is summer all round.
I have a plethora of happy feelings and memories that come with the mediterranean:
Working on my first dig in Lesbos. Visiting the vineyards of Italian country towns.
Eating spicy food and rissoto al a carte and late at night.
Painting by the water at dusk in a balmy breeze.
Using candles as opposed to lights, and watching moths and other insects alight their diaphonus wings on my windowsill, trying to get close to the flame.
Getting fairly drunk on good homemade wine, with a Sardinian family, a botinist and two archaeologists.
Swimming in the dead of the night in a warm sea.
The lifestyle of the mediterranean village or country town is also unique. The people there are so relaxed. They work hard in the morning, then have siestas in the afternoon. In comparison to people of the big city, they live an almost ascetic way of life in terms of material possession; but this is balanced out by the richness of culture and tradition they keep alive.
All I have left to say is.. go! travel! see the world! and i hope your experiences have been as good as mine have been.
Love: Hand sanitizer and pumice stone. Hate: Misquitoes Eating: One thing you need to know about me: I can’t cook. At all.
Just enjoyed [restaurant cooked:)] Moroccan Lamb (Mechoui). Sipping: Campari and soda. Feeling: Extremely relaxed. Craving: A massage Dreaming About: Excavating at Kerthoi. Watching: Blood Diamond Listening to: The Beach Boys- Surfin USA Reading: Hades Daughter- Sara Douglass The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock- T.S Eliot [check it out on my Blogroll]
Posted in Dreams on September 6, 2008 by labyrinthinememory
Ok. It’s 4am and I’ve just woken up from having the most interesting dream.
Though you may question my sanity as to why I’ve jumped on my computer at this hour of the morning, I feel as though I should write it down, while it’s still fresh in my head…
Forgive me if the details are a bit muddled, as the events in dreams sometimes are…
Ok. I think it started with me being somewhere like an amusement park, like Disneyland. Colour, colour, everywhere. It masquerades on giant teacups, flying saucers, golden towers and convoluting rollercoasters. But I feel restless, as though I need to be somewhere or experience something other than this party of excitement before me. I begin to run between stalls and rides like a madman, an energy thumping in my blood.
I notice a set of fairy heavy wooden doors. I enter. Inside is a dark alcove; an entrance to a cave of some sort. There is a tug at my hip. Bashful, my favourite dwarf from Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, greets me, pointing shyly towards a coal cart which is sitting on tracks which has appeared not two feet away from where we are standing.
Confident now that I am on the right path, I step into the coal cart. I pretty sure the dwarf hopped in as well at this point but I do not recall speaking to him after. The cart begins to move and pick up into a hair-wrenching speed.
I plunge deeper and deeper into the mysteries of the earth.
I am in a goblin realm; a mind-shattering maze of burrows, passages, and warren dens.
In these tunnels I can see my work colleagues; members of my team, working with the Seven Dwarfs on the mine’s walls. They do not smile or wave a me, so intent are they upon their work. Strangely, they do not wield the tools of archaeology; brush or chisel, pick or axe. They dig at the earth with the power of their minds, an instrument that is obviously no less effective, because the carts beside them are piled high, and they look constantly exhuberant, as if they have stumbled upon something fabulous.
Though how I know this I’m not quite sure, I know that they are not looking for skeletons, pottery or gold. They search for something more.
Hidden dreams. Stories. Echoes of some profound truth.
I am lulled by the beat of the tracks beneath me.
And the soothing sounds of this magical mining.
Then, all of a sudden, my mind seems to become disconnected from my body. I am alarmed at first; scared that I wont be able to find it again. I fight, truly afraid now because I have no mouth the scream from. I wonder if this was their plan all along, to trap me down here so I can’t make the discoveries I am meant to make at Kerthoi. I plunge deeper and deeper into the recesses of this ancient mine shaft, picking up speed, thinking perhaps that I am going to die.
Unexpectedly, the ground levels out beneath me. It is cool polished obsidian. The struggle is forgotten and a feeling of calm washes through me.
The events that follow are a bit blurry. I remember feeling as though I am being pulled along by some unseen string. Then seeing something very mixed up to do with Led Zeppelin singing “Hie-ho, Hie-ho its off to work we go…”
The last thing I remember before I woke up, probably the part of the dream which has me writing at this absurd hour of the morning, is being drawn into a giant hall. I look up to the wall at the far end, finding out that it isn’t a wall at all. It is a mass of writhing cogs, large, small, grinding seamlessly and soundlessly together in one smooth motion.
The Blessed Wheels of Life.
It has a language of its own. It’s movements echo perhaps, the currents and patterns of a life’s journey.
Then there is a shriek of laughter.
Isee:
A cracked mirror with a masked face.
An astronaut in a doctors mask.
A dwarf screaming and pointing a stubby finger at me.
And then I wake up.
What does it all mean?
ok its now 9am… and, ironically, this was one of the songs that came on the shuffle of my itunes this morning. So appropriate I just had to add it in…
After a long and often lack-lustre campaign of almost 8 years, my team and I have finally achieved what was thought by many to be unachievable: we have gained a permit to begin excavations on the island of Kerthoi.
This isn’t just another ordinary dig. No other archaeolgist has ever been granted permssion to even bring a shovel on the country, let alone set up an excavation.
And so we will be the first to delve beneath the surface.
My head is suddenly a maelstrom of hopes and ideas. I am imagining finding the remains of some ancient, unknown civilisation or city; something equivalent to the legendary Mycenaens or the Mesopotamians!
Ok. settle down.
Of course, such a discovery is highly unlikely, given our current collection of both Mediterranean artefacts and manuscripts from >3000BC. As a collective, they give a fairly detailed mention of all civilisations that have existed from then forwards.
But of course there still are some puzzles. Scripts and pictograms that have yet to be deciphered. Pottery, metalwork, and art that don’t seem to fit any era or societal style of craftsmenship to date. Though they are few in number, they are, perhaps, echoes of society that is still trapped within the earth…
In tribute to this accomplishment, I’ve made a new page titled “Kerthoi” that details a bit of history on the island, and shows where and how our excavations will begin…
‘La Persistencia De La Memoria,’ [The Persistence of Memory], 1931
This is one of my favourite surrealist works of art.
I love how Dali is able to crunch and crush time in on itself with his dripping clocks.
Mmmm, I guess we are similiar in that way that I am also trying to bring time under reign- bringing the past into the future- but unlike Dali, I do not work in a surrealist world, and this idea can never truly be realised…sigh…
I’ve included a link to a virtual gallery of Dali’s in the Bogroll, if you wish to view more of his work.
Posted in At Work, Stories on September 2, 2008 by labyrinthinememory
Its weird the way the recording your thoughts to the cyber world, or even writing then down on a pen and paper puts you, increasingly, in a reflective mood.
Today I watched one of my friends begin to remove a 2000 year old exo-skeleton from its age-old crib of fossilised mud. Normally I would watch for the first few minutes, then leave to continue my own work, but, given this self-reflective mood I seem to be in, I decided to stay. What I witnessed is indescribable, so most of you will not understand this in the same way that a citation cannot pay proper tribute to a work of art… but here goes…
My friend jokes around with us in moments before the procedure, seemingly relaxed and comfortable with himself. His demeanour sends the message: this is merely another day at work, another skeleton to exhume. But as soon as he begins to direct the tiny drill movements, and the mud begins to crack away, I see this facade fade away. He folds back on himself. He no longer speaks or even makes eye contact; with all his attention of thought narrowed down onto the writhing mass of bone and mud in front of him.
Something eeries begins to happen. I see a reverence move over his face, a strange softness that transforms him, so that he is no longer a conservationist, an archaeologist, a man.
He becomes immortal.
Magic pours from his fingertips; nuances of passion, colour, history, memory… and he begins to breath life and a story back into the remains, and suddenly this skeleton, his work of art, seems to become the keystone to solving the ancient enigma of humanity’s temporal existence…
Then all the mud is finally removed. My friend is suddenly shunned into the background as a new group of specialists move forward to examine the skeleton’s structural integrity. Something in his eyes coalesces, and he smiles at me with tired eyes…
