An odd day yesterday.

The swell had risen and I'd been missing out on the morning offshores because 'I had to stick to my list', that list being my little black book of to do's and thoughts, the Small Dark Dictator of My Days. 

Or one of them at least.

Yesterday the rebel in me said stuff it, revolution time, so I allowed myself a morning surf, while it was still good, instead of a grovel in the sharky dark in the onshore slop. (Note: A four metre Great White cruised through the line up two days ago.)

Winki was busy and a bit odd, but some four to five foot runners were whistling through at times, so it had a lot to say. 

All I had to say was 'just four good waves'. Three good waves out of three had me thinking a jackpot had been hit, knowing the place for over 40 years allowing a well read roaming of the lineup that for once kept yielding payoffs.

Sitting out the back and aiming to go in, I started to daydream about the last wave. "A big one and just wide enough to block the guys up the line. A barrel at the end of a good 200 yards would be nice"

Big Ask.

Blow me down if that is what appeared before me.

A cracker, broke up and out while I paddled for the lip line, catching everyone else inside. I managed a late take off, a long run, with a few happy turns and TWO good tube rides, in out, in out, as I hurtled towards Lowers. Straightened off and virtually stepped onto a low tide rock.

A good way to start a day.

The pics: Bells just after I got out of the water. Winki was better.

It's just come to the end of a very long run of swell down here.

Over the weekend it was very big indeed, and though Responsibility coupled with Catholic Guilt got in the way of abandoning all to the waves, I did manage some fun surfs. Saturday in particular was pretty damn massive, Bells and Winki a highway to hell with a sweep that drove most away, me included, with the few souls who braved it enduring a half mile or more sideways for, in the case of Winki, less than 50 yards out.

Those that did were managing a wave or two an hour so I dove down the coast to Winki's ugly sister, as it offered an easier paddle out if you timed it right, which I did, for a change. 

Eight to ten feet by my call, and after four pretty fun ones including a first very similar in size if not bigger to one I managed there last year. Round two saw me bashed and belted by a series of absolute floggings. I kept at it 'til a good(ish) one to come in on, accompanied by a headache from the beltings that left forty eight hours later.

The swell stayed until yesterday, slowly dropping but keeping the smiles on high beam.

The rest of the time has been spent working towards getting The Reef to its next stage, ie a film release, which is very much in the lap of the gods, and, on a whim, sticking some daydreams up on RedBubble just in case they earn me enough for the next block of wax.

The shot: a departing snap of a random wave just before leaving the car park on Saturday. It was the end of a ride and not a set.

Dusk is the new black it seems.

Since moving down to the coast to create a bit of space the late 'look at the sea' has been my regular evening escape, with oft times a quick dip as well.

A visit to the gym has been supplanted by a surf, something I cannot complain about, and with that betwixt hour comes the light. 

Sitting in the lineup in the darkening, the sights I see, the sights I see. The clear air and the south westerly aspect, facing the fronts, grants an anticipation of what is to come, the next day or more often the next hour as a black wall creeps then roars from the horizon to me, or simply a blast of light erupts as the sun clears the cloud banks. The world just lights up, a shiver of warmth to break the chill before the light fades, the shore beckons.

More often than not I don't have the camera, it not being of the waterproof variety, so the view from the drink is missed, which is sad as so often what a view it is.

The other thing about dusk being the new black is too often lately dusk has been my point of view.

I had a friend point out to me the other day that I am not the happy chappy I used to be, and I tend to gripe about the finances a little too often.

True.

Let's just say putting your life on the line to change it, getting into the arts as opposed to the commercial arts and timing it to coincide with the Big Crunch has done us no favours. Hero to zero. Combine that with a couple of kids full of potential but intent on testing the boundaries of what should not be done, and perhaps going a couple of miles past that and you have a happy man made very grumpy.

Now since most of what we create comes from our point of view, I've decided to change mine. My good mate Richie, one of three good mates named Richie, points out often enough, '...what is the glass? Half full or half empty?"

Indeed.

From the risks some great things have happened, some epic projects and absolutely incredible people to work with.

So today it's half full, the sun is shining, my kids are healthy, my wife still loves me, mad fool that she is, and I discover the other day The Reef is touring east coast Australia next year.

I may go for a little surf in the little waves later, but now, though it is Sunday and Fathers Day, I've got some work to do.

Pics: Dusks, and the surf from last week. It was rather good.

After the Reef and back into the real world, the last weeks have been spent dealing with the odd paying job coming in while working on developing 'its next stage", which, if we manage what I have in mind, will be a cracker to do.

Some of this paying job stuff has been pretty low budget. Farming out the work is a no go, so, in the instance below, where I needed an illustration of a rather aggressive looking carnivorous plant (don't ask), it was up to me. As I rarely do this sort of thing the result drew an internal smile and filled a cold and blustery afternoon.

It's been a long winter, the water down to around 12 or 13 degrees celsius, which, if you come from Nova Scotia or New York might be deemed downright tropical as far as winters go, but mix it with 5 degree air and a 30 knot offshore and it will still invoke sharp intakes of breath accompanied by the more than occasional ice cream headache.

Along with all the shivering has been a pretty sporadic collection of swells, the usual outcome of a weather curiosity that goes hand in hand with a pumping surf season on Australia's east coast. One of the great years in memory again means the Vicco coast gets a little bit skunked.

It's all relative though, as the other pic attests. A very nice four foot day at Winkipop last week and at last a snap of this particular vaguely porky near senior citizen doing a half decent top turn courtesy of local snapper Steve Ryan.

I'd resisted posting any more clips from The Reef as, out of context, it is easy to misconstrue what it is all about.

Then I discover Jonny Frank has posted the piece I called The American Boy on his site.

It had been the logical choice for a new addition so I was stoked in a way he'd taken the plunge.

The reason I'd referred to it in this way was that my edit to the opening of the third movement of George Crumb’s Black Angels (God Music) was a reaction to the time the piece was written (during the Vietnam war) and the presence amongst us of an American Boy in the form of the virtuosic Ryan Burch.

I was aware of the circumstances behind the piece and I'd been thinking of the impact of war on the lives of so many young men through the ages. Ryan, at 23, is a soldierly age, but to see his constant, joyful expression of life and possibility throws the waste of war into a very bitter focus.

Born in another time he could have been standing in a padi field in Vietnam.

Here he rejoices in being young, alive, very goofy, and doing what he was so clearly born to do.

As ever working with the brilliant vision Jon was so constantly providing made it an absolute blast to work on, and the music, played on cello and wine glasses, is, well, God Music.

*Please note.. it opens in silence as it transitions from the previous sequence in The Reef.

God Music from 'The Reef' starring Ryan Burch from Jon Frank on Vimeo.

Almost a month, again, since the last post, but what a month.

We left the cold of south eastern Australia in winter to begin our tour of The Reef in the far north, in Darwin, before heading across and south through outback towns and cities, giving a different world a taste of the places we play, and musical delights they might never, ever get a a chance to hear.

The response has been phenomenal, with standing ovations almost every where, for a program that the musicians themselves said was one of the most diverse and challenging they'd ever played.

Two days ago the 2012 tour ended at the Sydney Opera House Concert Hall, sold out, over 3000 people and again, we received a standing ovation. I'd never have imagined standing on that stage, would not even have considered it as a bucket list note, and there I was, with Richard Tognetti, Jonny Frank and the Orchestra, doing a schoolboy bow in my new shoes and shirt.

I had intended going to the show in my green polo shirt, blue and green sneakers and jeans, but Jonny took one look at me, said 'you look like bloody Kermit the Frog, go buy a dark shirt'... so I did. 

Along with some new shoes.

Beau Brummell is under no threat from me but for once I can thank my credit card for something.

It exploded shortly after.

From what I understand plans are already a foot to take The Reef to other Australian states next year, and overseas too. I even heard California mentioned, so fingers crossed Cali pals as that would be a blast. I'd truly love Ryan Burch and his parents along as the guy is an out and out National Treasure, and provided a lightness of being that only care free and twenty three can bring.

In between all that we also had a run of all time waves that young Derek Hynd lucked into while he and I did a few tweaks to a couple of the Reef pieces. Riding my finless board better than I ever dreamt, DH tore up some very sizeable waves and I managed six days straight that almost got this fat boy slim.

Ahhh well.

Pics.: A pic from rehearsals in Darwin, a slice of a two hundred metre queue waiting to get into the Broome concert, and some local colour from one of the smaller days last week at Bells and Winki. And that was not a typo. These from the smaller days, from four minutes from my front door.

I kind of wish my Dear Old Dad had made it through to this year.

We finished the edit of The Reef yesterday... a solid month of Jon Frank, Ed Saltau and yours truly (notice I refrained from Old Fatboy.. I've hardly eaten) hiding away editing, grading and generally thinking thinking thinking for ten hours a day, seven days a week and not much sunlight.

The results are still gestating as, though we did work to the music to be used, it now has to be rehearsed and developed, to those very set time signatures, for performance by an entire orchestra. 

Yes, a unique position to be in and all of us pinch ourselves a bit, but the pressure is on Richard Tognetti and his formidable team as the musical program is challenging in the extreme. To pull it off will require all the considerable talents being brought to the table.

Naturally they will do it.

Finally now we have a little vision to share.. though that is all it may remain, as The Reef is a work that is intended to be seen as a unit, so taking any one part will naturally force a missing of the point.

With that in mind this excerpt has been chosen as it features the sublime Vocalise by Rachmanninoff, and it is easily explained.

The Reef has been conceived as a series of musical chapters loosely analogous to our lives. This piece, which we naturally call Vocalise, is dedicated to Heroic Failure and the need to pick yourself up, and have another go.

Next Thursday it has its World Premier in Darwin, then through the top end of Australia to Perth and on to a sold out concert at of all places, the Sydney Opera House.

Who would have believed?

Maybe Dad.

Other pics are stills from the show.. 

The Reef. Vocalise. from The Reef on Vimeo.