Backyard Arty Tales

Furry Feline Tales

Cat Fight Over Storm

Last Sunday, it happened again! I went down to Brighton Central to help set up for our Marion Art Group exhibition. When I came home, Hubby met me at the front door.

‘You left the laundry door open,’ he said.

‘Oh, no! Is Lily okay?’ my only thoughts were for our new cat Lily. Had she escaped and run off never to be seen again?

‘Come and have a look,’ Hubby said.

As we crept up the passageway, Hubby added, ‘Lily’s locked inside.’

Still baffled, I followed him to the family room.

Hubby pointed. ‘What can you see?’

Tufts of fur littered the floor.

‘Gracie came in through the open laundry door and had a fight with Lily,’ Hubby explained. ‘She’s currently under our bed. I had to pick Lily up and remove her from guarding Gracie.’

I examined the mass of fur. ‘From the looks of it, Lily won.’

We eventually extracted Gracie from under our bed, and she returned to her owners next door. Sheepishly. Reluctantly.

I think she secretly enjoyed her tussle with Lily.

All the while, our elderly gent cat Storm kept out of it and watched from the safety of the couch.

[Photo 1a: Window contenders © L.M. Kling 2025]

Here’s an earlier story of one fine autumn morning, a long time ago.

Chaos in Cat-Central

I gazed out the kitchen window one Saturday morning. The sun shone on every blade of the many weeds in our garden, and the neighbour’s cat sat on our discarded toilet near the back fence. I had the beginnings of a nasturtium garden in those old toilets. Can’t have the cat digging up my seeds.

[Photo 1: Our Toilet Garden © L.M. Kling 2017]

I strode outside and the cat scampered off in a flash of black and white.

‘The neighbour’s cat tried to use my toilet garden as a toilet,’ I told my son as he lazed in bed, sleeping in.

‘Ugh!’ he mumbled and then rolled over.

***

We planned to have a family gathering in the evening, so after washing the floors, I left the back door open and settled down to paint.

As I nestled down in the deck chair on the back patio, I heard a growl. Then another growl in reply.

[Photo 2: Outback Storm Brewing (in the MAG exhibition at Brighton Central) © L.M. Kling 2025]

‘What’s that about?’ I muttered and went inside to investigate.

Holly, our tabby, crouched in a tense ball in the passage facing the bathroom entrance. In the freshly cleaned bathroom, Holly’s nemesis, the black and white cat (BW) snarled at her.

Holly’s puffed-up tail twitched, and she hissed at her enemy.

BW emitted a low, menacing growl.

The pussies peered at each other, a slow, silent, Mexican stand-off of the feline kind.

[Photo 3: Mexican stand-off of sorts and of a more recent kind © L.M. Kling 2020]

I nudged my foot at the interloper. She launched at it, claws dragging through my ankle’s exposed skin.

Holly screamed like a banshee and pounced on BW. Fused in a ball of fury, the cats rolled around the tiles, tufts of fur flying out, littering our floor.

My son joined the human audience of the furious feline fight.

I glanced in his room.

Storm, our black cat, shuddered on top of the bunk, his green eyes glowing from his dark face. No way was he going to join in the fray.

[Photo 4: Storm was always scared; he used to take anti-anxiety tablets to keep him calm © L.M. Kling 2016]

I ran to the kitchen and grabbed a broom. While the cats thrashed about, I closed all the doors, except the one leading to the outside through the laundry. Then I poked the broom at the feral ball of furs. The cats flew apart. BW attacked the broom. I shook her off, and she glared at the brush-end, hissing and spitting at it. I pushed the broom at her. She scratched it. Then sped into the bathroom.

I yelled to my son, ‘Get another broom.’

He stared at the black and white intruder that hissed and spat. ‘Where?’

I moved Holly out into the family room and then grabbed the Swish broom from the laundry. I gave it to my son.

As mother and son, we, both armed with brooms, guided BW as if shuttling a hockey puck. We nudged the wild ball, shunting her through the passage, through the laundry, and then out the back door.

The cat bolted down the path and scrambled over the fence.

[Photo 5: The veggie patch near the back door with “pumpkin tree” © L.M. Kling 2017]

I slammed the door shut and, with a sigh, began sweeping up the aftermath of fur bits from the bathroom. I picked up shards of cat claw, another casualty of the clash of cats.

‘Hey, look, cat claws,’ I said.

‘That cat was feral,’ my son replied.

I swept my eyes over the bathroom and noticed chocolaty nuggets in the corner. I took a closer look.

[Photo 6: Holly in calmer times © L.M. Kling 2007]

‘Oh, no! Cat poo!’ I cried and then collected the poo scoop. I shovelled up the mess. As I scanned the bathroom, I discovered more souvenirs of the feline fight.

‘Oh, Holly, did you have to?’ I said to Holly, who crouched in the corner of the family room.

‘Don’t blame Holly,’ my son said. ‘It had to be the neighbour’s cat, didn’t you say that cat was on the toilet in our garden and you chased her away? It’s that cat’s revenge.’

***

I later heard from a neighbour, that a huge cat, a Jabber-the-Hut of a cat, ruled the neighbourhood with his paw of iron claws. It is for this reason, cats migrated to our backyard. Our land was a haven to them.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2016; updated 2020; 2025

Feature Photo: Schrodinger’s Cat © Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2024

***

If you’re in Adelaide, check out our Marion Art Group exhibition in the mall at Brighton Central Shopping Centre (Corner of Edwards Street and Brighton Road, Brighton). Displaying wonderful and affordable paintings you can buy and take home—a great idea as Christmas presents. On until Saturday, October 25.

My Schrodinger’s Cat pastel painting inspired by the photo is there too.

***

Want more? Dreaming of travel down under?

Why not take a virtual journey with the T-Team Adventures in Australia?

Click here on the links:

The T-Team with Mr. B: Central Australian Safari 1977

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981…

And escape in time and space to Central Australia …

Arty Friday–Kata Tjuta

Kata Tjuta at Sunrise

[Remembering my dad, Clement David Trudinger 13-1-1928—26-8-2012

Extract from Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981]

Way before the sun had even thought about rising, we gulped down our porridge and then set off for the Eastern Side of Kata Tjuta. Dad was on a mission to capture the prehistoric boulders at sunrise. We arrived at the vantage point just as the sun spread out its first tentative rays, touching the spiky tips of spinifex and crowning the bald domes with a crimson hue as if they’d been sunburnt.

[Painting 1: Kata Tjuta Sunrise (watercolour) © Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2015]

I dashed a hundred metres down the track to photograph the “Kangaroo Head” basking in the sun. We stood in awe as the glow of red on the rocks deepened.

Every few minutes Dad exclaimed, ‘Ah, well, that’s it, that’s as good as it’s going to get.’ He packed the camera away, only to remark, ‘Oh, it’s getting better,’ then retrieve the camera from the bag and snap Kata Tjuta flushed with a deeper, more stunning shade of red. The rest of the T-Team, waited, took a few shots, waited, mesmerised by the conglomerate mounds of beauty, before taking more snaps of the landscape.

[Painting 2: Soft Sunrise Glow of Kata Tjuta (pastel) © Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2021]

TR patted Dad on the back. ‘Well, the early rise was worth it.’

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2016; updated 2021; 2025

Feature Painting: Sacred Sunrise, Kata Tjuta (acrylic) © Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2021

***

Dreaming of Australian Outback adventure?

The Intrepid T-Team Series

Available on Amazon Kindle or as your own Aussie coffee-table books.

Click on the links below …

The T-Team with Mr. B: Central Australian Safari 1977

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Arty Friday–Ocean Beach

Virtual Trekking Behind the Art: Ocean Beach Tasmania

[In the last few weeks, after months of drought, rain. And, almost a month after storms and extra high tides, more extra high tides last Tuesday. So, in memory of the cold stormy weather, here’s an old piece of calm from our Tasmanian travels.]

[Video: Stormy sea, Brighton © L.M. Kling 2025]

Calm on Ocean Beach

Ocean Beach lies on the West Coast of Tasmania near Strahan. The wild winds of the roaring forties (between the 40-and 50-degrees latitude) attack the coast with relentless ferocity.

In 2001 I visited Ocean Beach with my family to see the mutton birds coming home to roost for the night. I had barely stepped out of the car before the biting cold wind blasted me and I made a hasty retreat back into the car. No view of mutton birds that evening. Result, no photos.

Ten years later, my mum and I visited Ocean Beach. While the East Coast was inundated with floods, Ocean Beach that afternoon was calm. We explored the beach, taking many photos of this rare state of the beach.

[Photo 1: Ocean Beach through Dunes © M.E. Trudinger 2011]
[Photo 2: Ocean Beach View the Distant storm © L.M. Kling 2011]
[Photo 3: Ocean Beach gentle tide-flow © L.M. Kling 2011]
[Photo 4: Ocean Beach—Lunch View at the Lookout © L.M. Kling 2011]

October 2016, the K-Team ventured onto the sands of Ocean Beach on perhaps a not-so-calm day; calm enough though, that we were able to walk along the beach. Not being satisfied with just an obligatory few metres up and down, my husband led us way up the estuary where we spotted a variety of birds, some fishermen, and the lighthouse sitting out there near the heads. Gotta get our money’s worth. After all, he’d seen the potential from the dizzy distance of the cruise boat as it sailed past the heads of Macquarie Harbour. I think if we’d allowed him, we’d still be walking along the coast somewhere around Tasmania.

[Photo 5: K-Team in dunes of Ocean Beach © L.M. Kling 2016]
[Photo 6: Rough Surf of Ocean Beach © L.M. Kling 2016]
[Photo 7: Debris from Storm of Ocean Beach © L.M. Kling 2016]
[Photo 8: Walk of Ocean Beach and view of island © L.M. Kling 2016]
[Photo 9: Fishermen of Ocean Beach © L.M. Kling 2016]
[Photo 10: The birds of Ocean Beach © L.M. Kling 2016]
[Photo 11: The Lighthouse of the Macquarie Harbour Heads © L.M. Kling 2016]

Still, nothing like a thorough study of my muse which I have now painted in miniature on Huon Pine and on canvas in acrylic—each time different.

[Painting 1: Calm on Ocean Beach (Watercolour) © Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2016]
*[Painting 2 and Feature: Ocean Beach Calm (Acrylic on canvas) © Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2018]
[Painting 3: Misty Calm, Ocean Beach (Pastel) © L.M. Kling 2022]

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2016; Updated 2018; updated 2020; 2023; updated 2025

***

Virtual Travel Opportunity

For the price of a cup of coffee (takeaway, these days),

Click on the link and download your kindle copy of my travel memoirs:

The T-Team with Mr. B: Central Australian Safari 1977

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari. (Australia)

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari (United States)

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari (UK)

Down the Rabbit-Hole–Family History Revisited

Oh, dear! I must’ve been deep in the rabbit-hole of painting yesterday. See what I painted in one sunny mid-winter’s afternoon, yesterday. Anyway, being what was intended to be Family History Friday for Tru-Kling Creations, went down a rabbit-hole and ended up somewhere else.

Check out the re-blog of the story of my great-great grandfather from Silesia.

Art on a Friday–Story Behind the Painting: Mt. Giles

For the last few years promoting my artwork has taken a back seat to my novels. About time I moved the art to the front seat again. So, for a start, here’s a story combining both memoir and art in the story behind the painting of Mt. Giles in the MacDonnell Ranges, Northern Territory and the T-Team’s intrepid adventures climbing it.

Feature Painting: Mt. Giles Through Ormiston (c) L.M. Kling 2016

Travelling on Friday–Farewell Glen Helen

T-Team Next Generation
All In a Sunday

Sunday Morning: Farewell Glen Helen

[Twelve years ago, the T-Team, next generation embarked on their pilgrimage to Central Australia. Purpose: to scatter Dad’s ashes in his beloved Central Australia, in Ormiston Gorge.
Over the next few months, I will take you on a virtual trip to the Centre and memories of that unforgettable holiday in 2013, with my brother and his family; the T-Team Next Generation.
This time, the T-Team farewell Glen Helen, then struggle with the concept of driving in convoy.]

The sound of boots scuffling in the boys’ section of the tent woke me. I wormed my way out of the sleeping bag, careful not to wake Hubby. He still puffed out the sweet dreams while softly snoring while I crept next door to investigate.

[Photo 1: Dawn Breaking © L.M. Kling 2013]


Son 1, his face clouded in a frown greeted me. ‘Couldn’t sleep, so went for a walk,’ he snapped.

‘Best time of morning to enjoy the views.’

‘Sure you don’t have sleep apnoea? You kept me awake with your snoring all night.’

‘It’s just the cold desert air,’ I replied, then left for my own walk with views.

[Photo 2: Mount Sonder at sunrise 2 © L.M. Kling 2013]


Captured more of Mt. Sonder at sunrise; this time in blue and mauve hues rising above helicopter landing pad. In 2010, Mum and her sister had splashed out and taken this helicopter ride over the MacDonnell Ranges. In some ways an easier way to have a birds-eye view of the ranges without all the huffing and puffing and effort climbing a mountain.

[Photo 3: Birds-eye/helicopter view of MacDonnell Ranges © M.E. Trudinger 2010]


Mum had been there and done that in her youth when she climbed Mt. Sonder with my dad and other Hermannsburg friends. Mum shared just recently, that one of the friends was a rather luscious looking fellow. She puzzled why there seemed to be no photos of this chap in Dad’s slide collection of the occasion.

[Photo 4: Victorious and a much younger Mum T on the summit of Mt. Sonder © C.D. Trudinger 1957]


On my return from this venture down memory lane, I collected some firewood from an old campfire.
Hubby narrowed his eyes and growled, ‘We’re not making a fire.’

‘Okay.’

I approached my nephew who squatted by a campfire which he had lit. ‘We’re not making a fire,’ I said and then dumped my wood collection into the fire. ‘We’re not having a fire?’

My nephew laughed. ‘I was just playing with my stick and it broke and went in the fire.’

‘And my pieces of wood just fell into the fire,’ I added.

We watched the flames grow, both chuckling at our insurrection to his Lord-ship’s ban on fire.

After a toilet break, I filled a billy can with water and it made its way onto the coals. The family gathered, enjoying its warmth and relative scarcity of flies and other insects. But for some, like my younger niece, the fire failed to ward off all the flies; especially those tiny little sticky flies that crawl in one’s eyes, nose and mouth. For her, the only solution was to put a re-usable cloth shopping bag over her head.

[Photo 5: One way of keeping the flies at bay © L.M. Kling 2013]


Following breakfast by the fire that my husband said we weren’t going to have, I washed and packed up my bedding and stuff in the tent. Having done as much as I could to pack the Ford, I walked up to the restaurant with Son 2. He wanted an iced coffee. There, while Son 2 drank his iced coffee, I bought a book about Uluru, and then had a coffee with Mum. We talked with the owner and Mum shared that she had visited Ayers Rock (Uluru) in 1953.

‘We were the only ones there,’ Mum said.

‘Was Dad there that time?’ I asked.

‘Yes, but I was much younger, and we weren’t going out then.’ Mum laughed. ‘One of the ladies lost the sole of her shoe when we were climbing, and Dad gallantly lent his shoes to her and walked down the rock barefoot.’

‘Just like my brother did in 1981 with his cousin. Only they did it as a dare.’

‘Must be in the genes,’ Son 2, who had been quietly listening to the conversation, snorted.

[Photo 6: Historic climb of Ayers Rock 1953 © M.E. Trudinger 1953]


By 10.30am, the T-Team convoy had left Glen Helen, its red cliffs, its flies and the doused and covered fire in a distant mirage and we headed for Ormiston Gorge, again. My sister-in-law wanted to buy a souvenir magnet at the Ormiston Gorge information centre.

We parked at the turn-off, where Mum, Son 2 and I waited in Mum’s hire car for the Ford containing Hubby and Son 1 to arrive, and the T-Team in their white van to appear.

‘What’s taking them so long?’ Son 2 asked.

‘Maybe the Ford won’t start.’ A definite possibility, I thought.

‘Don’t say that,’ Mum said.

‘What about the T’s? They’re late too.’ Son 2 grumbled. ‘We’ve been waiting twenty minutes!’

I sighed. ‘Perhaps the Ford has broken down and brother is under the bonnet trying to fix it up.’

‘Should we go back then?’ Mum asked.

‘Yes, I think we should,’ I sighed again while starting up the engine. I rolled the car forward, performed a U-turn and then headed back to Glen Helen.

Just as we reached the road to Glen Helen, the Ford appeared and sailed past us on its way to Ormiston Gorge.

Down the valley we travelled until we could safely do a U-Turn, at what we had coined the “U-Turn Crossing”. This was the place where a couple of nights ago, Son 1 had collected firewood while I collected photos of Glen Helen’s iron-red cliffs bathed in the golden rays of the setting sun.

[Painting: Wood for fire under red cliffs of Glen Helen (acrylic on canvas) © L.M. Kling 2018]


Then, stepping on the accelerator, we chased the Ford. Upon catching up to the Ford, we beeped the horn and flashed the lights of our rental car.

‘What the…?’ Son 2 pointed at a white van on the opposite side of the road, heading back towards Glen Helen.

‘No,’ Mum said, ‘we’ve all missed the turn off to Ormiston.’

More sighs. A brief park by the side of the road, our car with the Ford, and then exchange of information with Hubby and Son 1. Then with my brother who had also missed the turn off to Ormiston and had to retrace his tracks back. We turned around (in our cars) and in convoy, bumped our way down the rough track to the Ormiston where we waited for Mrs. T to buy her fridge magnets.

Transactions done, we began our journey to Hermannsburg. This time, the T-Team in their white van, waited for us to catch up. Again, this time in convoy, to Mum T’s childhood home.

[to be continued…]


© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2021
Feature Photo: Red Cliffs of Glen Helen © L.M. Kling 2013

***
VIRTUAL TRAVEL OPPORTUNITY

FOR THE PRICE OF A CUP OF COFFEE (TAKEAWAY, THESE DAYS),

CLICK ON THE LINK AND DOWNLOAD YOUR KINDLE COPY OF MY TRAVEL MEMOIRS,

THE T-TEAM WITH MR. B: CENTRAL AUSTRALIAN SAFARI 1977

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

***

If you’re in Adelaide, don’t miss out!

Marion Art Group’s Exhibition at Bayside Village, Glenelg

Excellent Quality paintings for sale.

Exhibition ends tomorrow, Saturday May 10 at 3pm.

Travelling on Friday–Standley Chasm

[Twelve years ago, the T-Team, next generation embarked on their pilgrimage to Central Australia. Purpose: to scatter Dad’s ashes in his beloved Central Australia, in Ormiston Gorge.
One Friday every month, I will take you on a virtual trip to the Centre and memories of that unforgettable holiday in 2013, with my brother and his family; the T-Team Next Generation.
This time, the T-Team part ways for the day, and two of us set off to explore Standley Chasm.]

Bonus! An all-you-can-eat breakfast greeted us at the Chifley the morning after. The same can’t be said about the T-Team. Richard had slept in and not much was happening in my brother’s “camp”. Meanwhile, we had made the most of the morning, walking to the town centre.

[Photo 1: Chifley Resort © L.M. Kling 2013]

‘Gotta get tyres for the trailer, ‘n nothing’s open yet,’ Richard mumbled on the other end of my mobile phone.

‘Having a quiet day, then,’ I replied gazing around the near-empty local Big-W department store. Anthony held up a pair of cargo pants and indicated that he’d try those on. Then he began rifling through the bargain rack for more pairs to try.

‘Not exactly,’ Richard sniffed, ‘gotta get tyres.’

‘Oh, well, we’re thinking of going to Standley Chasm. Maybe we can all go together in the afternoon if your tyres get sorted.’

‘Hmm, will let you know.’

‘Okay, will hear from you then.’ I clicked off the phone and said to Anthony, ‘He doesn’t sound optimistic on the tyre-issue. Might be busy all morning.’

[Photo 2: Remember the tyre carnage? © L.M. Kling 2013]

By noon, the T-Team still weren’t ready; Richard still had to take the car to get the new tyres.
‘At least I’ve found a place that can do our tyres,’ my brother mumbled to me on the phone before he left on his tyre-mission.

[Photo 3: Ranges surrounding Alice Springs, Olive Pink Botanic Garden © M.E. Trudinger 2010]

So, Anthony and I travelled alone on our quest to explore Standley Chasm. Actually, we’d barely left the outskirts of Alice Springs travelling west on Larapinta Drive to the MacDonnell Ranges before Anthony piped up, ‘How far is it to Standley Chasm?’

‘Not far,’ I replied, then retrieving the map from the glove box, I hunted for the chasm’s location and then calculated the distance from Alice Springs. ‘It’s 50km, so about half an hour’s drive.’

‘Oh, you sure?’

‘Yes.’

‘Cos, if it’s further, we’ll miss the red cliffs, or getting in, or we’ll be home after dark.’

[Photo 4: Spectacular view of Stanley Chasm we wish to see © S.O Gross circa 1950]

‘Already have,’ I sighed. ‘But I’m sure the chasm will still be spectacular. And the hike there will be good exercise.’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’

‘Anyway, it’s not far. Besides, there’s plenty of other gorges to explore.’

Before Anthony could voice any further misgivings or regrets that we should’ve left earlier and not waited for the T-Team, the sign for Standley Chasm appeared to our right. We parked in the carpark shaded by a gathering of majestic eucalypt trees and then followed the path to the kiosk.

While waiting in line to pay the entry fee, we read the sign which assured us that we had plenty of time before the park closed at 5pm.

I nodded at the notice board and remarked, ‘All that worry for nothing.’

‘Depends how long the walk takes,’ Anthony said while nibbling a nail.

‘Doesn’t take long,’ I said. ‘I’ve been here before. Takes less than an hour.’

‘I hope so.’

I shook my head. ‘Look, we’ll walk for an hour and then turn back, okay?’

Just to be sure, when we paid for our entry tickets, I asked pleasant Irish man who ran the kiosk, how long the walk should take. He explained that it was mostly easy and would take the average hiker about half an hour.

[Photo 5: Along the way © L.M. Kling 2013]

So, rather than waste precious Anthony-time having lunch first, we set out on the adventure to the chasm. Anthony raced ahead. I wandered along the meandering path taking note of various scenes I would snap on our return. Who knows, we may make it in time for the spectacular red cliffs on both sides. Although the lack of tourists hiking either way, made me suspect that, that time had passed.

[Photo 6: Billabong © L.M. Kling 2013]
[Photo 7: Just beyond, tempting us © L.M. Kling 2013]

Twenty minutes later, Anthony and I beheld the awesome cliffs of the chasm; one side glowed golden orange, while the other side was a dark sienna. We sensed the peace and serenity of the place.

[Photo 8: The Chasm at last © L.M. Kling 2013]
[Photo 9: Perfection of Light © L.M. Kling 2013]


I scrambled over the tumble of boulders in the chasm and made my way to the pool. Beyond the rockpool, a sign prohibited us from venturing further. The deep water caught a perfect reflection of the boulders and cliffs.

[Photo 10: Pool’s reflection © L.M. Kling 2013]

In memory of my Dad, I photographed Anthony by the same tree where I had captured Dad in all his grumpiness some 36-years prior.

[Photo 11: Anthony by tree near Chasm © L.M. Kling 2013]
[Photo 12: Grumpy Dad by tree © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) 1977]

Upon our return to the entrance, we munched on our sandwiches and observed a group of aspiring hikers pitch their tents and then pull them down again. What’s that about? we wondered.

Then, a group of tour guides sat to eat their lunch on a picnic bench below us on the other side of the creek. Anthony had to comment, ‘There’s seven of them and only one of them is Indigenous.’

[Photo 13: Standley Chasm admired by tourist group © L.M. Kling 2013]

On our return to Alice Springs, we stopped by the caravan park where I booked our sons in. We had already booked ourselves into a cabin at the caravan park and had originally thought they could stay with us. And Mum, all concerned about missing out, had her cabin organised months ago. Even so, we had no problem arranging a separate cabin for our grown-up sons who we felt would be happy with more space.

[Photo 14: Vision of near Future at the Alice Springs Tourist Park © L.M. Kling 2013]

With late afternoon casting the long shadows of the approaching night, we made our way to where the T-Team were staying. We had been in touch with Mrs. T and had arranged to meet there. When we arrived at the appointed time, no T-Team. Calling Mrs. T on her mobile phone yielded no joy, nor answer.

‘’Not again!’ Anthony groaned.

‘Let’s go to the shops and buy some meat for a BBQ. Then we can find a picnic area and cook up our meat.’

My suggestion sounded reasonable to Anthony, so, off we drove to the local IGA supermarket. Just around the corner. Won’t be long. Maybe the T-Team will be back by the time we return.

‘That’s funny,’ I pointed at some bushes on the traffic island, ‘there’s a cop car hiding.’

‘I didn’t see anything,’ said he who was concentrating on driving.

I ducked into the shops to by some lamb chops and bread. Not much choice; I wanted to snag some sausages but couldn’t see any around. So, armed with the purchased, at some expense, meat and bread, I hopped back in the car.

[Photo 15: Ye good ol’ Aussie Barbeque © L.M. Kling 2020]

Anthony laughed.

‘What’s so funny?’ I asked.

‘While you were in the shops, a bikie guy was arrested right next door in front of the bottle shop.’ Anthony fired up the engine with the characteristic roar of the Ford. ‘I wonder what he was up to?’

Just then, Mrs. T rang back. ‘Sorry we weren’t there when you came. We was down the street and bought tea for all of us.’

So, with the chops saved in the ice box for camping at Glen Helen, we joined the T-Team for dinner, followed by a raucous game of “Chook Chook”, an educational card game trading poultry.

[Photo 16: Chook Chook © L.M. Kling 2017]

Afterwards, Mrs. T joined her friends on the back deck for a drink or two, the T-Lings continued with another round of card-playing with their father, while Anthony and I returned to another night of luxury at the Chifley Hotel.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2020

*Feature Painting: Standley Chasm Men © L.M. Kling 2018


VIRTUAL TRAVEL OPPORTUNITY

FOR THE PRICE OF A CUP OF COFFEE (TAKEAWAY, THESE DAYS),

CLICK ON THE LINK AND DOWNLOAD YOUR KINDLE COPY OF MY TRAVEL MEMOIR:

THE T-TEAM WITH MR. B: CENTRAL AUSTRALIAN SAFARI 1977

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

More Art–Last Few Days

MY LIFE—WORK VERSES ART:

The joy of creating over creating wealth

As a child, I enjoyed creating what I see or images in my mind with colour on paper or canvas. I would go into “the creative zone” and spend hours drawing or painting. Once I missed a visit by favourite relatives because I was “in the zone” painting a Central Australian mountain range.

[Painting 1: Mt. Sonder © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) Circa 1977]

I remember at eight years old, painting with acrylics at my grandmother’s house. I loved the process of paint gliding and flowing from the brush and how my mountain became a volcano smoke billowing from its mouth and snow gracing its slopes. I was hooked.

[Painting 2: Volcano © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) circa 1973]

But, in the 1970’s, with the rise of the status of women in society, the prevailing attitude was that every woman has a right to education, university and a career. The culture of the day was instilled in me that art was merely a hobby. So I never considered doing art as a career. My year eleven teacher cried as I chose Chemistry over Art for my final year. I reasoned I could always pick up art (as a hobby) once I left school.

[Painting 3: Calendar Butterfly © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) 1977]

This I did in 1981, my gap year. I joined a local Art Class in Glenelg and Arthur Phillips taught me to paint with precision, like a photograph, layer upon layer, with acrylics. I admired Arthur’s skill and enjoyed the classes that were always filled with laughter.

[Painting 4: Mt. Liebig © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) 1981]

However, as a poor university student, I had to give up Art Classes. I thought the Art Club at University would suffice. But it didn’t. The University Art Club at that time, seemed to be more focussed on social activities than getting together to paint.

[Painting 5: One Day in the Barossa © L.M. Kling 2018]

After graduating in 1985 with a Bachelor of Arts (majoring in Japanese and English), and then in 1986 a Graduate Diploma of Education, I entered the teaching profession and in 1987 relocated to Melbourne for my first job. After eighteen months of teaching teenagers, many of whom did not want to learn, coupled with a feeling my life had been hijacked by school, I quit teaching. I then took up a Research Officer position with Fusion Australia, a youth and community organisation that had an office in Murrumbeena, not far from where my husband and I lived.

[Painting 6: Great Ocean Road in pastel © L.M. Kling 2020]

Soon after I began working there, the community centre associated with where I worked, put on a community event—painting a mural with the help of a well-known local artist, Arthur Boyd. He shared his struggles as a professional artist over his career, making ends meet. This conversation opened my mind to the idea that for some (who were good enough) art can be more than a hobby. I now wonder what happened to the mural he helped us paint. The church in which the community centre was housed at Murrumbeena was knocked down and the land developed into a nursing home in the early 1990’s.

[Painting 7: Echo Camp, Mt. Painter Sanctuary © L.M. Kling 1989]

In 1989, my friend from church, organised art classes with artist Geoff Rogers as our teacher. Geoff taught me to loosen up with my paintings—more flow and movement in the scenes of the Flinders Ranges I painted.

At the same time, the local community centre offered art classes which I joined. There I continued my loose-with-palette-knife rendition of the Gammon Ranges’ Bunyip Chasm. The art teacher discouraged me. ‘You can’t do that, it looks awful,’ she said.

Later a friend came up to me as I was painting and remarked, ‘I love it! Can I buy it when you’re finished?’

I decided Geoff Rogers’ style suited me and kept with the loose style. I framed Bunyip Chasm which at the time cost $80 and then offered the painting to my friend for $100.

‘Oh, I can’t afford $100, dear,’ she said, ‘can you make it less?’

I loved my Bunyip Chasm and said, ‘I’m sorry, I can’t lower the price as the frame cost $80.’ To be honest, I was too attached to my painting to part from it.

[Painting 8: Bunyip Chasm © L.M. Kling 1989]

For the next twenty-two years, Bunyip Chasm decorated the walls of the homes we lived in. I gave it as a fiftieth birthday present to my sister-in-law as it was a favourite of hers. I then painted another Bunyip Chasm in the same style, but different, and that sold too.

When my children entered our world, I couldn’t paint—no room in a two-bedroom unit, and even when we progressed to a larger home, life was busy raising a family. So nineteen years passed without touching a brush or canvas. When we returned to Adelaide, with the boys at school, I enquired about art classes, but was told the same story again and again—the classes are fully booked, you’d have to go on a waiting list. There must be a lot of people doing art in Adelaide, I thought.

Then in 2009, I joined a writers’ group. At the same time, the art-bug had bitten, and I began painting with an artist friend from church. I shared how I found it hard to separate from my paintings, they were like my babies. My friend’s husband said, ‘But you need to share your work and bring happiness to others.’

Half-way through the year, a fellow writer invited me to join Marion Art Group (MAG). ‘Just bring along some of your work,’ she said.

Gulp! What if they don’t like my work? But I steeled myself and armed with three recent pieces of art, I went down to the hall where the group was held.

No worries, I was accepted. And by the end of the year, I’d sold my first painting, Cockling at Goolwa, to another MAG member.

[Painting 9: A more recent Cocking at Goolwa (in Pastel) © L.M. Kling 2023]

In my first MAG exhibition at a local shopping centre, I sold my second painting, Brachina Sunrise. Then…nothing sold for two years. Effects of the GST, perhaps. Customers not spending on luxuries like art.

I persevered with painting, attending MAG studio sessions every Monday morning, and exhibiting my work with MAG and with the local Rotary Art Show. Through workshops, videos and practice, I taught myself watercolour painting. The sale-drought made me work through why I paint. I came to the conclusion I paint because I enjoy it and can express the joy and glory of God’s creation. Perhaps that’s why I mostly paint landscapes.

[Painting 10: Sunrise on Brachina Hills © L.M. King 2010]

Then, in 2012, I put my work in another exhibition. This time, I invested in a full screen—I had so many paintings piling up and reasoned if they don’t sell, at least my friends and family can enjoy going down to the shopping centre and looking at them. I came home one afternoon, and the phone message light was flashing. I listened to the recorded message. ‘Congratulations you have sold…’

[Painting 11: Sleeping Beauty over Huon, Tasmania (acrylic) © L.M. Kling—A pastel version is available as an unframed in the basket in this year’s MAG exhibition at Brighton Central]

Hooray! Since then, I have sold paintings—some years more, some years less. I guess at this stage the money made is “hobby money”. And I remind myself, it’s not what I sell, that’s important, but that I enjoy the process of painting…getting in the creative zone. And maybe for others who connect with my paintings, bringing joy into their lives too.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2016; updated 2024

Feature Painting: Wood for fire, Glen Helen, Northern Territory (acrylic) © L.M. Kling 2022

 [Check out more on our Marion Art Group Website: marionartgroup.org, and enjoy…

Or if you are in Adelaide come and see our exhibition at Brighton Central Shopping Centre. We are here until Sunday, October 27.]

OR…

Virtual Travel Opportunity

For the price of a cup of coffee (takeaway, these days),

Click on the link and download your kindle copy of my travel memoirs,

The T-Team with Mr. B: Central Australian Safari 1977

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari. (Australia)

Art Break–Story Behind the Muse

Oops! Almost one week into Marion Art Group’s (my art group) exhibition at the local shopping centre, and I have failed to mention it. Been too busy writing, appraising hopeful writer’s works, and transcribing a friend’s biography of her mother who lived through the horrors of World War II. Plus burrowing away in the family history rabbit hole.

I have been pondering where my art genes have come from. No mention of renown artists in my ancestry. My dad was an artist with some potential, emphasis on potential as he channeled his talents more into music than art. My maternal grandfather, Sam Gross was an amazing photographer. But as a missionary pastor in Central Australia, he was discouraged from furthering his photographic endeavours as the mission board frowned on it and said he was spending too much money on camera equipment and film.

So, in light of my predecessor’s unrealised potential and the fact that I am still using the watercolour paints and brushes my dad left behind, I will share an afternoon that we spent painting in Central Australia in 1981.

Mount Hermannsburg

My father and I sat in the dry river bed of the Finke River painting Mt Hermannsburg which towered above the river gums and spinifex. We painted our muse on site; Dad painted in watercolour and I painted in acrylic.

After a couple of hours, Dad packed up his brushes and palette and returned to the town of Hermannsburg. I stayed, in the creative zone, dibbing and dabbing, the setting sun casting shadows over the river bed and a cool breeze pricking me with goose bumps on my bare arms.

I made the final touches as the sun sank below the horizon and I was called in for tea. I signed with my maiden name, naturally, as I was only 18.

Dad’s painting and mine sat side by side on our host’s piano where all who saw, admired our work. I kept walking past and gazing at my painting. Did I really do this? Wow! Did I really?

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2016; updated 2024

Mt. Hermannsburg, MacDonnell Ranges Northern Territory, Australia. Painting by Lee-Anne Kling (nee Trudinger) in acrylic 1981. Not for Sale

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