This is a portrait of small rural town in Tasmania, Australia. It explores how a place can leave an imprint on all those who pause long enough for it to rub off on them. I grew up in this town and left when I was 18. At that time, Lonely Planet described it as “a sedentary mildly menacing place… [where] locals line the riverbanks to watch, wave and hope that something bright, special and glamorous from the Australian mainland might stay here to cultivate and grow”. Two years ago however, with equal parts nostalgia and resentment, I returned.
Despite being told by everyone that greener pastures are elsewhere (metaphorically at least, the town is surrounded by bloody good farm land), it is comfortable here. By the seaside, it is uncomplicated and spacious. Or is it idle and empty? I’m never quite sure.
