Damian’s Creek

The old refrigerator provides the screen. snags sizzle in the electric frypan, and four generations settle in on mismatched old furniture among the shelves of books and picture frames.

Each shuffle of the projector is met with obligatory larrikin cracks and chuckles.

It was special to witness the expressions change as each yellowing image popped up, and it struck me that, despite our prodigious sharing of irrelevant electronic imagery, these analogue memories still held enough power captivate the audience, especially the kids.

Aside from the warmth of the occasion (and the South Australian Summer afternoon), there lingered an undertone of sadness. A brother evident in the pictures but not in presence.

Damian (nicknamed Herman by his family) succumbed to the depression that had followed him in life. He took his own life in his own shed, a decade before.

Whilst we were filming, Nanna Lynne spontaneously read a poem she had written after the loss of her son.
Her words flowed from the crumpled paper as budgies chirped in the fading afternoon.

The poem served to provide context for the two-minute film that embodies what personal work really is.

That which has the ability to touch us personally.