Every year, from August to early September, I keep plenty of space in my calendar for wild flowering adventures. It’s become a welcome ritual that takes over my life in the best possible way, with many hikes and walks, and this year, some wonderful artist retreats.
My interest in the Wallum and its wildflowers has profoundly influenced my art practice. For several years, wildflowers have been my primary subject, captured using my signature botanical inks. Even though I already have hundreds of photos of the same plants, I can’t resist taking more. Each photo feels like a documentation of time and place, a record for the day when this landscape inevitably changes. And change it will, as developers continue to clear more and more of our precious Wallum habitat. I fear that one day, we will visit these areas the way we visit zoos—small pockets of nature tucked within sprawling urbanisation.
I’m sure this is happening elsewhere across Australia, but this is my backyard, so to speak. I like to think that by introducing new people to the beauty of these wildflowers, we expand the community of like-minded, caring advocates. The more people who understand and appreciate the value of preserving these flowers in their native environment, the more hope I have for their future.
There’s immense joy in seeing masses of mauve Vanilla Lilies (Sowerbaea juncea) mixed with the blue-purple Native Iris (Patersonia sericea), surrounded by various yellow pea flowers, pink Boronias, showy pink Cooloola Wax Flowers, and spidery pink Tin Can Bay Grevilleas. And that’s just the beginning — the diversity of colour and species seems endless. It’s deeply satisfying to discover different species in different locations I visit from the Sunshine Coast to Maryborough, some endemic to specific areas like the Tin Can Bay Grevillea, Emu Mountain Grevillea, yellow Prickly Moses, and Wide Bay Boronia.
Still, I must confess, finding an orchid is always the biggest thrill for me, evoking an almost reverent reaction. And my personal “Holy Grail” is the elusive Flying Duck Orchid (Caleana major).
Me amongst the wild flowers at Rainbow Beach and a close up of a Flying Duck Orchid (right)
The flower’s head is about the size of half my smallest fingernail, perched atop a single stalk 20-30 cm high, with one tiny olive-coloured leaf that looks a bit like a small gum leaf sprouting from the ground. I joke that these orchids have a death wish since they often grow along 4WD tracks in sandy areas. My theory is that they seek camouflage near gum trees. They truly resemble a duck — beak and all — with a “Red Baron” scarf flying behind them. I’ve seen them in large family groups, and sometimes, there are even up to three “ducks” on a single stem.
You can’t help but fall in love with them, and I eagerly await their appearance every year.
Joolie Gibbs - September 2024.
Featured artwork: Wallum Cacophony, 114.5cm L x 57.5cm H
Comments