In the first full-length collaboration, commissioned by the Australian Ballet, everything flows in a custodianship about renewal and balance.[5] In an ecological timeline bigger than you or me, beneath the cracked clay in “Sleeping Yams,” perspective is also altered. The stage reveals itself to be a cross-section of a subterranean world of interconnected roots and ancestral songlines. Overhead, five sleeping yams, Tamara Bouman, Brett Chynoweth, Adam Elmes, Trevitt, and Callum Linnane, awaken. One by one, they extend an arm, rotate their head, and huddle. Suspended by cables, they gently unfurl, and it is magical to behold that which is typically hidden from my view. Whether in ribbon-like extension or folded like a teardrop with legs raised overhead, tucked in the warmth of the earth, both songlines and plant matter. “Plants are Country through songlines and story, carrying knowledge about how to keep our lands and seas healthy.”[6] And like all good collaborations, where one company ends, and the other begins, is impossible to say, such is the successful entanglement.
The “Bush Flowers,” at the close of “Flora,” chime to colourful, hopeful bloom, with thanks to William Barton’s layered and original score, sprung from the flexibility, the dual strength and fragility, of the sinews of a kangaroo. The pleated vibrancy of bush flowers, in exquisite costumes by Grace Lillian Lee, is shown in a new context: in place, returned. Courtney Radford’s Regeneration solo crackles as the fire cools and new growth sparks, a beacon of what is possible. A luminosity, rooted to the earth and “in perpetuity. For a living relationship with native plants supports not just survival but [signals a] commitment to hope, healing, and the building of a healthy and sustainable future.”[7] Plants guide us all, if we let them.
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