At a superficial level The Land of Moinee is a visual exploration into the wild and threatened natural environments in Tasmania. More comprehensively, it is an account of the dynamic conflicts between human culture and nature. Psychologically, it delves into the primordial mind before it was distanced from our origins in a state of nature; sociologically, it imagines a future where modern attitudes have greenified, and where the 'symbiont' becomes common place; politically, it is a call for the recognition of nonhumans, and is a revelation for the intelligent life of the natural world; personally, it is one mans journey into the wilds of Tasmanian nature, and into the wilds of his own nature.

Through the use of the visual method, discourse, poetry, and mythology, The Land of Moinee plots one possible path of transformation from humanism to something a little less anthropocentric. It cultivates a path of metamorphosis to a new social reality where human and nature are aligned.
 

 
 

She moves, fluid, like waves. One moment crashing against an invisible wall, the next, spectre like, vanishing through it. Her single form vibrates through sheets of light, blending into a multiplicity. Forms emerge in her bodily writing, some like her own form, but so too, do forms manifest unlike her own. As her dance continues, she, the person, vanishes more and more as archetypes of human consciousness emanate from her sacred movements.

This project blends the stillness of the photograph, with the movement of the dancer. By merging the two together a new vision of what dance and photography are arises. Through the qualities of the camera, the energetic movements of the dancer are captured. Action is rendered still, as we witness the almost religious, poly-theistic captures of the embodied writing of dance. 

 
 

I walk into a plastic recycling factory to find several teenage boys working around a custom made plastic chipping machine. They stuff large plastic containers into the sharp teeth of the machine, barely centimeters from their unprotected hands. The room has a heavy fog of plastic chips, and an overwhelming smell of toxin that makes me feel like emptying the contents of my stomach. It’s so dark, my camera struggles to capture the scene. Temperatures are so high many of the boys work in their underclothes only. Their bodies are covered in plastic shards embedded into their naked flesh. I turn to one of the men asking, "How can they work here, I feel so ill already". He responds, "The boys who work in here, don't live very long"...We leave the room.
 

(This project is exploratory, designed only to scope out the potential for a more comprehensive visual account of slum living).