There are three children under five. Overthere we build our house. Overhere we live/breathe/love/birth in a single room with no bathroom. Somewhere nearby my mother is slowly ailing. I care for her. The children and I stop by the side of the road to pass snacks, take a piss, rescue an owl, move the body of a snake, a tortoise. Look at the way the light hits those empty eyes – the leaves – my children’s translucent skin – my mother’s hands. The wild geese still call. Chaos and order fold into each other.

Addiction runs in the family. I will sacrifice for a hit: pick up the camera, write a sentence, bury my hands in the soil. Of course, something gets left behind. In the creative act, I put my body up hard against it: terrors, delight. Something always gets left behind. In a fervent attempt to hold what cannot be held, I go back for it again. Grief is praise and this is a temple.

…

Julia Rose van Haren is a writer and photographic artist with duel Australian-Sicilian citizenship. She was raised, lives and works on Jinibara Country in Queensland Australia. She holds a Masters of Fine Arts from NIDA, a Bachelor of Fine Arts from Queensland University of Technology and a Bachelor of Nursing Science from Charles Darwin University. Her work is an exploration of mothering, the erotic  and queer perspectives of femininity.