Heartbroken by the devastation facing our planet, we want to spread positivity and love by creating a series called ‘Love letter to earth’.
We have been committed to sustainable practices from the very beginning of ISĒ and are committed to making the world a better place. Together, we believe we can create hope and change for a brighter future.
In the next few weeks, we will be sharing love letters with you from people in our community who are passionate about the earth as we are. We hope to inspire you to change and reflect on your personal commitment to our planet and the place we call home.
What will you reflect upon or commit to the earth?
Share your love letter with us #MyLoveLetterToEarth
Photography by Walter Maurice
For the second of our four part series, we visit Antonia Mrljak, a Sydney-based artist who looks at place and identity in her work, researching what it means to be in place, nature, dream or culture and how certain imagery, shapes and objects have an immediate intimacy that develops into personal memory. Antonia chose to reflect on a time in 2017 when she visited Tweed Heads, a town in north-eastern New South Wales in Australia, where she wrote a moving poem to a mountain.
Image: Antonia Mrljak's studio.
She says, “When you look at the landscape, and you stay and think about what existed and what was taken away, it’s very very sad. It’s almost debilitating, because you know what could have been and what could be there today, and it’s all gone because we’re taking it away. It won't come back, so that’s what I think about often.”
Left: Antonia Mrljak in her studio. Right: Portrait of Gerard.
"My hands are wringing wet with fear and my sorrow makes marks that will explain where I have been before."
Read Antonia's love letter to earth:
Debris scattered at my feet.
Time has been vicious and restless.
My sighs are so quiet they have become like a rhythm and it is relentlessly tiring.
Blame is just history — wounds that are left behind in silence.
The pace is changing though it makes me look down to see how far I have come.
My hands are wringing wet with fear and my sorrow makes marks that will explain where I have been before.
I search for a place that will keep me from wandering — my landscape of thoughts are unforgiving and honest.
Light is slowly going and I need to rest now…