Debra Higgins documents a day in the life of her circular practice, caring for the land that provides her art materials.
Yesterday and Boxing Day were our first days of rest after a busy Christmas. Craving rejuvenation, I asked my husband Rob if we perhaps could go bush for a day. He laughed and said, “You do know, Deb, most people would consider travelling two hours to a dry and dusty ironbark forest to pick up rubbish in the middle of a Victorian summer to be something less than a rejuvenating experience. I wonder how he knew I meant travelling to the Whipstick to look for possible future art materials.
I‘ve been captivated by the Whipstick Forest’s stark, uncommon beauty ever since our first visit sometime between lockdowns five and six in Melbourne, That’s when I first saw what I have come to affectionately call “The One Tree”: a box-ironbark clinging to the edge of a quartz laden gully, its horizontal roots stretching to find a foothold in the parched earth. The tree’s resilience, in the harshest of conditions, left an indelible impression. It sparked a deep curiosity to know what happened to it and to the forest so shaped by gold rush history that it continues to bear the scars of discovery and excavation. I now take every opportunity to visit the forest.
I also take every opportunity to visit The Great Stupa of Universal Compassion. As a Buddhist, I knew there was a stupa in Bendigo, which I had always planned to go to but had never quite gotten there. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that the Stupa was actually situated within the Whipstick Forest. It was a coincidence I could not ignore, leading me to deepen further the relationship between my creative and spiritual practices over time. The Stupa now feels like a second home. It takes me back in time to my pilgrimage throughout India and Nepal with my late teacher, H.E. Keejok Rinpoche. I have so many fond memories of my stay in Sera May Monastery in Bangalore, spending time with the Tibetan women refugees, sharing conversations over a cup of butter tea and walking around the Stupa.
It took us over an hour to pack for our trip to the Whipstick: hats, sunscreen, chargers, first aid kit, insect repellent, drawing materials, rigger gloves, muesli bars, and enough water to tide us through what can be a scorching Australian heat. Whilst the temperature was predicted at 28 degrees for Bendigo, it felt much hotter, for it was a dry heat coming directly from Australia’s desert centre. Our trip preparation also included checking the Victorian website for bushfire alerts before we set off.
We arrived at the Stupa just before midday. My favourite mantra, Om Mani Padme Hum, was playing over the PA, each syllable reminding me of the six perfections of the Buddhist path: compassion, ethics, patience, diligence, renunciation, and wisdom. My spiritual practice is based on the development of these behaviours. I remain a work in progress.
Walking slowly up the hill to the Stupa, our dog Chewbacca decided we weren’t moving fast enough, so he ran towards the entrance of the Stupa, pulling Rob behind him. The last traces of my holiday fatigue disappeared as we walked inside. Rob and I sat down in front of the Jade Buddha and closed our eyes. Chewy fell quickly asleep at our feet only to wake twenty minutes later, so I sat him on my lap, hoping to finish my meditation. It was faulty thinking! Chewy made it clear he was ready for our next stop: the site of a burnt car wreck we’d first encountered two years back, where I had collected melted metal alloy pieces. I hoped the remains of the wreck would now be cleared from the forest and the car’s owner would be fully compensated for their loss.
When we first came across the car wreck in the forest, we found the scene quite fascinating. There were so many parts of the car that were totally unrecognisable, which says something for Rob, who is quite a car fanatic. I remember taking so many close-up photographs of the textures and colours of the burnt and rusted metal, thinking I would use these as inspiration for painting. Then I saw the melted pieces of alloy metal on the ground and instantly fell in love with their random shapes, colours and sizes. I collected them but had absolutely no idea what I would do with them. They sat in my home studio for a long time before eventually morphing into “Melt”.
My usual creative process starts with research and building relationships with my subject and materials first. “Melt” was no exception. I am undecided if objects have agency, but I do believe they hold energy and clues to their past. You just need to be attentive enough to sense it. Meditation before any creative activity in my studio supports my efforts in this regard. I explored each shape and its properties, how they worked separately and together, and traced and drew the shapes, adding shading and details, before cutting them out and exploring ideas for composition. By this time, I realised I was developing an attachment to maintaining the integrity of each piece connected to the whole. The mandala “Melt” was born.
We are almost to the site when we spot an upside-down couch and mattress dumped onto the track. There is a Parks Victoria plastic ribbon advising that it is illegally dumped rubbish. Rob and I see more and more larger pieces of rubbish being dumped in the forest. We suspect it’s linked to ever-rising disposal costs and many people doing it tough financially. What we cannot understand is the presence of hundreds of tiny shards of smashed yellow pottery also strewn across the track in front of us. I used my feet to scrape them into manageable piles, and we gathered as many as we could. They may end up being placed in our rubbish bin, or they might become part of a new sculpture. Either way, they will sit in my studio until I decide which.
Our disappointment was immediate when we saw the car wreck site. The chassis and larger engine parts had been removed, but the forest floor remained littered with scattered pieces of melted glass and metal. We also found exploded tyre fragments and part of the car body closer to the water channel. We began picking up what we could, but it soon became apparent there was too much, and we would need to return at a later date with a rake and dustpan to finish the job. Not long after, a fire truck with lights flashing raced down the road above us. Our senses immediately heightened. We could tell the forest floor was unusually dry, and even though the lignin was green, it could go up like a tinderbox. Our decision to leave was made the moment a second fire truck appeared. It was heading in the same direction as the first. We quickly packed the car, checked again for fire alerts and set off in the opposite direction. This took us deeper into the forest, away from potential danger, which just happened to be closer to The One Tree.
The One Tree is approximately two centuries old. I can only imagine what it has seen and experienced.
We rarely visit the Whipstick without checking in on The One Tree. Last time, we measured its circumference. Ironbarks grow slowly, between a third to half a centimetre per year. At ninety-six centimetres in circumference, The One Tree is approximately two centuries old. I can only imagine what it has seen and experienced. Today, its lower gully is bone dry. Previously submerged rubbish has come into the daylight, with continued erosion around its base making its foothold on the earth even more precarious. The One Tree reminds me that all things are impermanent. I cannot imagine a Whipstick without The One Tree, yet it is teaching me about the bittersweet lessons of detachment and the ephemeral nature of the things I hold dear.
Hot and dusty, with muscles aching, we decide to head home. I couldn’t help but reflect on the day: how fortunate I am to be able to share my passion for the forest with Rob and how a chance encounter with The One Tree has given such purpose and meaning to my creative practice. Collecting rubbish from the forest forces me to grapple with my own use of commodities, as well as the complexities of consumerism, politics, environmental stewardship, and the human condition. I feel conflicted. I dream of a day when I cannot find rubbish in the Whipstick, yet at the same time, I find myself also valuing its creative potential as I search to maintain its inherent integrity so that its presence in the forest is not forgotten.
I have no ancestral claim, but love binds me to the country of my birth.
I have no ancestral claim, but love binds me to the country of my birth. The burden of rubbish is not limited to the Whipstick. I believe picking up rubbish is a small act of care. It is my way of saying thank you for the gifts the land has given me. The land invites me to pause, look and listen closely. It does not give easy answers but instead challenges me to keep asking questions.
In a world full of things we discard, what possibilities might emerge if we look carefully at what we leave behind?
- Debra Higgins, Residual Impact-,2024, Forest Rubbish.1.2m x 1.2m
- Debra Higgins, Worn Witness-, 2024, Rusted Metal on Wood Panel, 1m x1m
- Debra Higgins ,Shattered-.2024, Photograph
- Debra Higgins. Homeward Bound- , 2024, Photograph
Debra Higgins is a recipient of the Garland Prize for Innovation in Storied Object.
About Debra Higgins
Debra Higgins is a multidisciplinary artist who lives, works, and studies in Narm, Melbourne. Her recent work relates to the Whipstick Forest near Bendigo, on the traditional lands of the Dja Dja Wurrung peoples. Buddhist, environmentalist, and amateur anthropologist, Debra’s creative practice is strongly influenced by philosophies pertaining to impermanence and the interconnectedness of all things, and her deep love for the natural world. A recent development within her practice is the collection of detritus from the forest as both an act of care and restitution. Follow @debhigginsart and visit debrahigginsart.com.au