born of dust and remembering

Looking up at the night sky one can see several patches of darkness. These are the parts of the night-time blanket that haven’t been embellished with the twinkle of starlight. The cornea is at the mercy of this void so vast and so false. Perhaps I’m more aware of the stars out here in Kent. 
It’s a luminous language foreign from that of the structured lighting of a city.
Here one can look up and see generous pointillism.
There is more that the eye can see when the ceiling is your torch.

I now find myself past the midway mark of my time at The Studio. I also find myself, along with the rest of the world* in a new calendar year. Salutations two-oh-one-nine. I think our world is a bit too myopic to consider this the eve of a year of ‘perfect vision’ (two-oh-two-oh), not synonymous with the brave new world that chilled the muses many. Although, the subtitles on the news of New Year’s Eve seemed to believe we were entering 20 AD. Which in some respects could be considered true considering certain policies and ideologies I need not explicitly state. Perhaps 2002 had even more of a ring to it (tragically memorable for more war and bloodshed). But it’s still a number so good the drunks of 2002 could read it backwards and forwards and still know the year they were in whilst quenching the thirst of the underlying human obsession with symmetry. Alas, there is a slight complication. Our fictional protagonist Anna, born in Ekalaka Lake in 2002 has long wondered why the word palindrome failed in itself to be a palindrome. Perhaps palinilap could usurp the word palindrome as a more appropriate term of fitting exactly what it serves to represent. But here’s a proposition for those who get inexplicably fascinated with symmetry: come find me in two-one-one-two and we can stare in the mirror and contemplate our own facial asymmetry in a symmetrical year. It will all be ok. Born of dust, back to dust. That’s symmetry right? Nevertheless, here we are in a new western calendar year and my endeavours are the same but fortified with perhaps what some call the new year’s resolution. V-I: alas even perfect resolutions find themselves challenged. However, the new year is empowering. Why? It’s a time where we look at a construct of closing and entering, perhaps one of the few times where we are encouraged to sit and reflect and meditate upon the internal and the external, achievements and mistakes, our actions and our own desires. However, it is not quite any of the above that serves as the catalyst for this entry to my blog. Instead I felt it was about time to break a rather self-imposed silence, a silence that I hope this entry will explain.

*For those who celebrate the New Year according to the Gregorian Calendar.
Also, I wrote this entry just before the new Lunar Calendar Year.
But now it’s the new Lunar year as well so 新年快樂 to all my Chinese family and friends!

monotony and memory

My week is structured around the days that I am at the flute studio. It’s a monotonous motion that I am certain is valuable to my flute playing and development, but perhaps not the most blog-inducing. We’ve ploughed through more repertoire than I ever did in my three years of undergraduate music studies and I am finding that I am learning pieces and concepts faster and that I have become more vigilant regarding my own playing and expectations. I’ve had the opportunity to play for some remarkable guest artists at the studio including Michael Cox (Principal Flute BBC Symphony Orchestra), Rachel Brown (historical flute and music specialist) and Juliet Edwards (accompanist and pianist). We’ve also attended master classes in London with Emily Beynon (Principal flute of the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra) and William Bennet (Professor at Royal Academy of Music) which have been equally enriching. But classes with Trevor are often the hardest and most rewarding. He is a erudite figure who can be simultaneously cruel and caring in character, and my time here at the flute studio has been undeniably beneficial. He speaks of a world of ghosts that seemingly still haunt the way flute is taught and institutionalised. These ghosts are his friends… from Marcel Moyse to Alain Marion and other remarkable figures who he worked with or taught and some that are still alive today. But most importantly, it is fully clear that he respects his friends and colleagues, and that they have imparted lessons regarding music and life onto him and that this equates to a large portion of his wisdom– a wisdom he shares with his students. It is far from an evangelical “church of flute” vibe, and despite many of my friends thinking I joined an obscure flute cult in the English countryside, this is a valuable opportunity to learn from one of the few remaining flutists and pedagogues of a time passing. While many of Trevor’s values and tones of teaching may be outdated, it can still be applied to a large portion of the flute repertory (being that it is mostly composed by dead white guys anyway!). But the sentiment of the rules, character and fundamentals of music transpires across the periods. Even in more anarchical approaches there are always shadows. So in some ways I came to the studio to understand more about the past, because so much of the music I have played in my musical studies is steeped in periods past, but because it helps me to understand more about how we arrived at the sonic inventions of the present. It is also becoming increasingly clear to me just how much there is to consider when learning, performing and teaching music. But also how there is much (somewhat disregarded) simplicity. It is all a matter of understanding. I think after this course I will spend some time reading back through the notes I took from the studio classes. There’s just an incredible amount of information that I could probably compile it into a guidebook that I could use for the rest of my career and to help students and colleagues. I’ve also taken time to think more about the direction of my career. Not too long ago I was somewhat vehemently opposed to the idea of a career in orchestral playing. But I think this course has opened up realms of new possibilities that perhaps I had turned my attention away from. Whilst I gravitate most towards contemporary music, I now see my own musical identity broadening. That is not to say that I do not want to specialise, in fact I think I would eventually love to be a specialist in contemporary music. However, I am in love with delving through different styles and genres of music (and different modes of expression) and at this stage in my career I want to embrace that exploration further. After the conclusion of this course I am eager to explore a variety of opportunities in the various realms of musical expression.

time-travel, noise travel,
feet first into gravel

London is seductive. It’s this noisy and luminous magnet of activity that has abundance. Back in Australia one would sometimes have to wait months, if not several years for an artist, exhibition, program to come from overseas and grace our senses. We have such fine local artists in Australia and we are certainly never short of entertainment. But, envision this, you’re in Sydney for a night and there are three concerts happening simultaneously and you would like to be present at all of them. Omnipresence would border on delusional so you’d have to choose one. Cities are reminiscent of supermarkets, there’s choice, choice and more choice; choices to the point where you cannot choose whether or not you want to be dizzy because you already are. I am a sworn lover of nature and all places not suffocated by concrete but the magnetism of cities always draw my feet back into its streets. It’s no paradox, but more an acceptance that cities often house opportunities, culture, the arts and people to them. I am a victim to that magnetism. I’ve been into London a several times now, to listen to concerts and attend masterclasses. It’s about a 40 minute trip into London via South-Eastern rail that can cost up to £26 return, so I have to choose my visits wisely and sparingly. It certainly proves difficult when there is a worthwhile concert, exhibition or event happening EVERY SINGLE DAY. I’ve had the opportunity to see some incredible exhibitions particularly ‘The Clock’ by Christian Marclay at Tate Modern, a 24-hour film I have been wanting to see for years. I’ve also been to the National Gallery, The British Museum and the Victoria and Albert Museum. The V&A museum holds such an extensive collection (all the Rodin statues!) and I also went into an exhibition regarding the production and sustainability of fashion. I am yet to go and listen to the many wonderful orchestras in London. I tried purchasing tickets for a London Symphony Orchestra concert but the few remaining tickets were around £80. For most events there reasonable are student or youth fares for around £10, but for these you have to act fast. But I’ve been fortunate enough to hear Claire Chase, Bang On A Can All-Stars (selections from Field Recordings, Julia Wolfe’s Anthracite Fields), Frederic and Jan Rzewski and the London Improvisers Orchestra. On the weekend that Bang On a Can (BOAC) and Claire Chase were playing in London there was also a Ensemble Modern concert, but as I had booked for another concert I couldn’t make it to that. Alas, choices! King’s Place has an incredible series called ‘Venus Unwrapped‘ that shines the spotlight on the creative power of Women in music. The BOAC concerts I went to were a part of that series and as I was sitting in my seat I realised that 80% of the works programmed were by women. What was most intriguing was that the concert was not advertised as a ‘program of mostly women composers’. At times I find that organisations and artistic directors feel the need to highlight that they are making an incredible effort to program the music of women and this is fantastic. But it can also be mildly counter-productive and can perpetuate tokenism, exclusivity and marginalisation. I think it’s about constructing a program that is made up of great music and balance. But when there is an alarming under-representation (or no representation!) in concert programs excluding particular groups in society, that is when we must highlight existing imbalances. But most importantly the focus should be to forge a more inclusive future through providing platforms where these unique creative voices can be heard. So before I went to the BOAC concert I wasn’t aware of Venus Unwrapped nor was I aware of how many composers were women on the program. It was only when I sat down that I thought to myself– ‘damn, this music is good’, and that’s all that should matter.

fertile ground

My time here in Elmsted, Kent is almost solely dedicated to the flute and practice. The other day, I was asked by one of the neighbours (by neighbour I do not mean next door, but rather, across a field) what I do when I am not practicing or at the Studio. I stared into my cup of tea, a pause, for a moment of consideration before I gave an answer. You see, there is not much else to do here than practice, go for walks in the woods, and get creative with a limited diet. However, in this time away from the clamorous seduction of city living I have found gentle entertainment in my the machinations of my own mind. Being here has extended opportunities beyond the flute. I have found more time to compose music and experiment with musical ideas I have wanted to try for some time. During this course I started making composition part a regular practice through composing my own warm-ups and exercises for flute to some larger projects not directly involving the flute. In the last three and a half months I composed my first string quartet ‘A Waning Body‘ that was premiered at the Environmental Sound Art, Classical Music and Australian Female Composers concert at the Queensland Conservatorium of Music. Each note from this work is a sonic translation of data collected from Antarctic Mass Variation since 2002. It was a concept I’d wanted to explore for some time as a means to promote heightened awareness on the alarming rate of climate change. Consequently, it’s full of sounds that aren’t meant to make anyone feel terribly comfortable. I also wrote a piece for percussion/speaker and fixed media dedicated to my Brisbane duo partner, Joyce To for her solo recital at the Tilde New Music Week in Melbourne. I’ve been exploring spoken elements with vessels (glass, flutes) and wanted to create a piece that featured this idea as a central element. And thus ‘Ingrained/in-grains’ came into existence. There’s no recording as of yet but you can listen to the fixed media component here. There are other ideas and concepts that are still in an embryonic state but are slowly taking form. I am also beyond excited to announce that a ‘Noisy Women’ concert will be happening again this year for International Womens Day (8 March). Last year the concert received overwhelming support from the Brisbane community and beyond with an audience exceeding the capacity of the venue and many more watching nationally and internationally into the live-stream. As well as being a concert celebrating the valuable contributions of women throughout musical history it is also a space to promote established and new works by women. How can masterpieces be made if they are not heard? Hence, this year the concert is happening again, albeit under a new and very exciting name (with an equally exciting acronym): Women of Noise. This year I also have a talented team of young musicians (Courtney Lovell, Anna Rabinowicz, Sasha Walker, Elizabeth Shearon) on the creative and organising unit who are undoubtably the backbone of the project. More information regarding the program and musicians involved will be available on our Facebook and Instagram so be stay tuned to exclusive sneak peeks and exciting updates!

Encore?

In the final months of my time here in Kent I’ll be up to my knees in pieces, practice and hopefully more snow! I am glad I took the time to write this entry as it has given me moments to reflect on time passed and the time that is passing. After my time in the United Kingdom I will travel to Germany where I will stay with one of my old flute teachers. I’ll be investigating opportunities including jobs, Masters degree options, maybe even going to a festival or two, getting some lessons and doing more performing. From one ambitious plan to another it seems! At this stage I anticipate that I’ll return to Australia late in the year. I’ll certainly be eager to perform, collaborate, catch up with friends and family and share what I learnt here at the studio. Here’s to the continuum of noise.

some photos…

reflections through the curtain of haze; England emerges into salience

The first leg of my journey is done. This morning I arrived at Kuala Lumpur airport looking quite large with clothing– not ideal for this 26 degree, 6 am weather. Of course, I am preparing myself for a chilly London evening (always in relativity to Brisbane weather). As I was sitting here writing this, waiting for my gate to open, I cast my gaze outside to watch the sun rise through the haze of pollution which I know all too well from visiting Chinese cities. I believe my last post was written post-Nief-Norf, when I was in Knoxville Tennessee which was only around four months ago. It’s not that the time between then an now was too mundane to write about, I was just incredibly inundated with preparing for my final recital and addressing my other university and musical commitments. This post will be a series of reflections on my last few months in Brisbane and the wonderful opportunities and people who made my time there so unforgettable.

gallerie: a graduating recital

 

 

Behold! My ultimate concentration face. Well, for a recital requiring 40 minutes of playing it was a festival of concentration of all mental, spiritual and physical energies–but a feeling of triumphant cathartic release. It was my most honest performance to myself and my audience that I had played in my three years of my degree. In front of an audience of friends, family, teachers and colleagues what more could one ask for?

a little bit of context for those who could not be there and those wishing to know more…

I had my final recital on the 26th of September. This was my last recital in the Bachelor of Music course at Queensland Conservatorium and I was ready to make it more than just an examination. With the guidance of my teacher, Virginia Taylor, I put together my dream program of pieces that complemented each other and created a ‘gallerie’ of colours and narratives when programmed together. I began first with Female Nude (1993) by English-born Australian composer, broadcaster and writer. Apart from the fascinating and quite sensual title I was intrigued to discover the sound world Ford was exploring in this piece. Female Nude is written for solo alto flute (also for alto flute and wooden percussion) and is the third movement from his work Mondrian for flute/s and percussion. The work draws its inspiration from the the Dutch painter Piet Mondrain and his prolific work. Female Nude spells out the word Mondrian (whilst omitting the d) in fragmented utterances from the performer. These syllabic gasps are interjected between quartertonal pitch variants of A (E concert)– A quarter flat, A natural, A quarter sharp. For those who are not musicians, wind players or flute players this technique is achieved through particular fingerings, or/and a physical action such as ‘bending’ the pitch through the mouth. This piece is ornate with nuanced techniques that intrigue not only the player but the audience also. From flutter tonguing, tongue rams, simultaneous singing and playing, each technique adds to the macro-image and idea of the work rather than what can sometimes be a case ambitious overwriting of “extended techniques.” I had the pleasure of playing this again the day after in Gatton at the ‘New Music at the Old Butter Factory’ concert.

The next piece in the program was Michel Blavet’s Sonata No. 4 ‘La Lumagne’. This piece, commonly misspelt as ‘La Lumague’ became a favourite of mine as I gradually realised just how much could be continuously invented when presented with Blavet’s ideas. Blavet himself was a flute virtuoso alongside his career as a composer and I think this shows in the fundamentally simple beauty of his writing. I think that what Blavet offers is a set of collaborations in his sonatas, between what is written and what the performer can further contribute. Of course, this is a evident feature of Baroque ornamentation which was often improvised by performers to portray a heightened sense of virtuosity. These something special about the written characters that Blavet presents. The most particular example that comes to mind is his final movement in the fourth sonata titled ‘Le Lutin’, the hobgoblin. Blavet’s muscial depiction of the hobgoblin is one of mischief and buoyancy. Two light accented crotchets accentuate the opening, a motif that embellishes the whole work and brings to mind the how a Hobgoblin might walk. Whilst I did not do all the written repeats in my recital (due to time constraints), however I am sure that I will be revisiting this work in the future.

Twentieth century French art is so very colourful and is particularly evident in the music of composers and performers during that time. During the 20th century much Flute repertory flourished and we were gifted numerous works which contained then progressive approaches to pitch, rhythm, extended techniques, instrumentation and structures. Whilst the Sonatine for flute and piano by Pierre Sancan is not a ‘radical’ work it is one that has been embraced by many flute players as a popular staple since its publication in 1946, and is his most widely-known work. French music of this period has particular difficulties. Like many French flute pieces the Sancan requires the lyricism of liquid phrases despite widely written intervals punctuated with more rapid statements. There is evident duality in the music, between the cantabile lines and the rapid punctuations that give it a sense of constant movement and colour changes. One particular section, the Andante expressivo, of which I termed the ‘heart throb’ section became a musical outlet for my deeper emotions. There is a very small list of works from the distant past that I have felt a genuine connection to, however I felt that I was able to emotionally synthesise with the Sancan in a way that I could express my underlying emotions. The andante expressivo occurs after a short piano cadenza which paves the way for this more reflective and still movement with leading to a more tumultuous current of release. I found myself on the edge of tears on the day of my recital as I dug into the emotions I had been feeling about leaving Brisbane, a place that had been such a incredible home with genuine people. Of course whilst I knew I would only be away for around six months, I felt that I was leaving somewhere that had become a bit of a haven and a most definite home. I felt like this section of Sancan gave me the means to express this.

My last piece is a piece most dear to me, and an Australian premiere– Kaija Saariaho’s Terrestre (2002) which is a reworking of the second movement of her flute concerto Aile du songe dedicated to flutist Camilla Hoitenga.  WIf you’ve been an avid reader of my posts then you may be familiar with the name of this piece as I played in during the Nief-Norf Summer Music Festival. This was the first time I had performed any of Saariaho’s music and I was so stoked that Terrestre was my introduction into her musical language. Upon coming back to Australia, I began putting together my recital program and was determined that this would be my closing piece. All I had to do was put together an ensemble, and I think I found a dream team. I felt so incredibly privileged to have an ensemble of talented members on board, with the multi-talented flutist and composer Hannah Reardon-Smith conducting the work, Flora Wong conjuring sonic sensations from her violin, Oliver Scott with the meditative sounds of his violoncello, Loni Fitzpatrick spiralling through each movement in circular motion and Joyce To leaping from percussion instrument to instrument. Whilst I love this piece it was also the hardest piece to put together as an ensemble. It demands high concentration throughout frequent metre changes, technique changes and rapid gestures. The flute part in itself contains a feast of gestures, tone colours and most notably combines characterised spoken interjections from Oiseaux, a collection of poems by Saint-John Perse. The first movement, Oiseau dansant refers to an aboriginal tale in which a virtuosic dancing bird teaches the whole village how to dance. The second and closing section, L’oiseau, un satellite infime, is a synthesis of the previous parts of the concerto and floats away like the bird, a small satellite in a universal orbit. Who would’ve known that contemporary music would be at the book ends of my recital? Well, I suspect most people! 😉

I will be uploading a video of my recital unto my Youtube in the next week, so click here to subscribe and be notified first!

Again, thank you to my wonderful family and friends who made the room overflow with love and support. You are the dream audience and I’m so grateful that you all came to hear my last recital at the con for a while!

flooding the old butter factory with new sounds

IMG_6209

I had been invited to perform in a very special event the very next day after my recital. Two of my dear friends and colleagues– composer, performer, improviser Jasmin Leung and percussionist and improviser Tim Green had put together a very rare opportunity in the food bowl of Queensland, the beautiful Lockyer Valley. Michael Louttit, Elizabeth Jigalin and myself were invited as guest performers to showcase some of our own work. Over the past week they had been working with children on their holidays to construct a concert of wonderful sounds. I thought to myself that never before had I seen children engaging with experimental sounds and ideas, but this thought was quickly negated as in youth experimentation is what helps us learn. Some absolutely incredible pieces were written by the children, including a piece titled unique rhythms, crazy sounds which was essentially a groovy drum circle and a duo who called themselves the Alfoil Girls who stunned the audience with dozens of ways to make sounds with alfoil in their piece Shimmer. The most astounding idea was wrapping alfoil on a small microphone and running it against the wall. Another piece, Twenty Two Screaming Bowls, written by four of the children involved singing bowls, bows and small objects. I was amazed at how these boys who I had seen running around with uncontrollable energy earlier could create something so utterly meditative. I felt quite inadequate with the sounds I was presenting, especially since I was playing the oldest piece, Female Nude written in 1993! Usually this is still called new music, but an ongoing question I have is when does new music stop being termed “new.” The works composed for the concert were so new, written within the week and some were even improvisations. Jasmin had written a structured improvisation As Close as Lips and Teeth for the whirly tubes swung by the children, vocalisations and me on flute. Jasmin was so eager to have this event the rural town of Grantham as many of the residents had never before heard experimental music let alone a live concert. It was a truly special event and I could see how it touched the lives of the children, their families and the community. It is so wonderful to see experimental music being introduced to children. I believe I wrote about this in one of my other posts regarding Norf-Speak. But this event was different because the children were given the opportunity to make experimental sounds and consequently they composed some of the greatest works I have ever heard. Children have a unique musical perspective and I think much more of this should be heard in ways such Jasmin and Tim’s program.

climbing the stairs to Treehouses

I find myself often working without music. My whole day is spent focusing on intentions of sound that sometimes it can be fatiguing to listen to music for pleasure. Other than instrumental music and concerts I have rarely found myself at ‘band’ shows. This was a bit different. My friend Tim Mead is a vocalist in Treehousesa Perth-based group drawing on folk and spoken ideas. Currently the band are supporting listener, a US based spoken word rock band on their Australian tour. I’m vibing pretty hard to their music currently, especially after hearing them at Blackbear Lodge. Their new track Old Friends is seriously infectious with an absolutely scintillating synth line and fresh vocals and spoken/screamed lines. Non-instrumental music is not my usual subject to write about but I’m liking what I hear and feel that I should do an investigation into more local Aussie bands, especially during my time away. So please comment some suggestions of bands/songs that I should have a listen to. Meanwhile you should all go and give Treehouses some loving on Spotify!

Elim Chan and the New World

This title is pretty multi-faceted. Firstly, it most obviously refers to Dvořák’s Symphony No. 9 in E minor “For the New World” Op. 95 which was performed by the Queensland Conservatorium Symphony Orchestra under the baton of Hong-Kong born conductor Elim Chan last Friday night. Secondly, it eludes to this new world we are entering i music regarding representation of gender, musical ideas, culture and politics. Lastly and on a more personal level, it relates to the new world I am travelling to.

This concert was so incredibly special for a number of reasons. The program was absolutely blockbuster, consisting of Strauss’ Till Eulenspeigel’s Merry Pranks, to Tchaikovsky’s Rococo Variations played by the incomparable Meta Weiss to the momentous New World Symphony. Elim Chan mounted her podium with presence, intent, her arms outstretched and coursing energy into the veins of the orchestra. I have never before witnessed a conductor with such deliberate intentions, ideas and the technique to coax out world-class playing. The Strauss was taken at a bright tempo, light and drenched in character. Perhaps it was where I was sitting, however I was frequently aware of the rich curtain of sound produced by the strings, often more present that the winds. Motif were dextrously passed around sections of the orchestra with solos sounding incredibly polished. The Rococo Variations seemed a lot more textually balanced. With her cello, Meta Weiss made her first statement of the theme with poise and buoyancy. In my proximity to the stage I was able to witness the detail in her fingering and bowing that conjured incredibly moving phrases. As a flute player I may be biased, but there are a few particular sections in this work that I adore. Without a doubt the dialogue between the flute (principal played by Kyla-Rae Ashworth) with the theme and the cello is a personal favourite. Then of course the theme in the relative minor and the final variation. The incredible thing is that Tchaikovsky plays by some of the most standard ways of musical variation, but the work itself never fails to get audiences excited. The final work in the program was the New World Symphony a work that always is an audience favourite. I like to endearingly call this symphony the symphony of seconds as Dvořák introduces and passes his themes and motifs around second positions of the orchestra (ie. second flute, second violins). The work itself is a narrative of triumph, nostalgia an energy and I can confirm Elim brought out all these qualities. It would have been incredible to have the opportunity to work with her for this project but unfortunately I was engaged with preparations with my departure. Instead I had the opportunity to listen and be an audience, a position that is important to the learning and growing mind of a musician.

London landing

Well, I’m finishing the last few lines of my blog on a lounge in London. I arrived at Heathrow around 16:00 this afternoon after over 22 hours of combined flying. At the airport I met fellow flutist Lindsay Bryden who has been living in London and is also doing the Trevor Wye Flute Studio for six months. For those who don’t know why I’m now in England, I’ll do some explaining! Earlier in the year I applied and auditioned for The Flute Studio under the tutelage of Trevor Wye, a renowned flutist, pedagogue and author of several best-selling books. I found out a few months ago that I had been accepted into the course which has recently received confirmed support by the Australian Council for the Arts and The David Cubbin Memorial Fund. The studio has been operating for over 27 years and has welcomed students from over 19 countries. The primary focus of The Flute Studio is to achieve flute performance to a very high level through a meticulous focus on flute technique, method, tone, repertoire, history and performance. The course prepares individuals for the rigorous and highly competitive nature of a professional career as a musician. Whilst I delve through various ‘corridors’ of repertoire, genres, expressions and settings, having technical autonomy is imperative to greater nuances in expression and communication. I am confident that The Flute Studio is an important next step in my professional and musical development.

Tomorrow, Lindsay and I will be travelling to the Elmstead Court Farm where we will live for the next six months whilst perfecting flute technique with four other wonderful flutists from Lithuania, Korea, the U.S. and another from Australia. I’ll be sure to keep this blog healthy and regularly fed with fresh content so be sure to subscribe to be notified of new posts and activities.

If you are interested in financially supporting my on-going project and production costs (such as food and public transport to and from concerts and masterclasses) then you can do so via my Australian Cultural Fund project page here. All donations over $2 are tax deductible and are meaningful no matter the amount! Thank you for your ongoing support!

To all my family and friends~ I already miss you and Brisbane town and I’ll see you next year!!! 👋🏼 I can’t wait to share all my adventure with you!