February 2011 - Painting Upper River Road
A road must lead somewhere and it generally has a name.
Until recently the signpost opposite the start of Upper River Road, or Upper Kangaroo River Road, didn’t indicate a road at all, only a vague place: “Upper Kangaroo River.”
A tourist might have wondered if there was really anything down there, maybe a village, or simply a narrowing of the wide stream that flows under the Hampden Bridge.
There was neither indication of distance, nor of what to find when you finally got to wherever it was, just a road leading to a place of mystery.
The new sign brings the road into the 21st century, but once that has been left behind the road is able to sink back into its old century ambience.
Maybe it’s the unknown that adds to the atmosphere of the road, to its enticement to see whatever is along its length.
It is one of my favourite roads in the Valley, but that is probably because it is our road, along with everyone else who lives along it.
If I were able to paint, it would be the variety of landscapes the road traverses that would form the first layers of brushstrokes on my canvas, that I would title “Upper River Road.” It would be difficult for an artist to include all the intricate details on the one painting, and none would probably try, unless the artist were one of those Nepalese painters who can encapsulate the whole Everest region onto one frame.
I’m certainly no artist, but in my mind’s eye I can see what it is I would like to include.
A green, bucolic scene is the first to greet the eyes as you leave the Moss Vale Road. Wide, open pastures against a backdrop of dramatic escarpments; a rural dairy scene that would be hard to improve on; historic Barrengarry House hidden behind its arboreal defences. Anything hidden from view provokes a feeling of mystery, and so much
along this road is hidden.
A windmill slicing silently through the turbulent air draws our eyes to the distant escarpment, which beckoning, folds in on itself, hiding the direction of the road. After rain, the cascading Maynard Falls draw our eyes to the rocky wall and away from the black-and-white studded paddocks. But they quickly focus on to a minutia of the changing scene: multicolour letterboxes on the corner of Kelly’s Road, perhaps symbolic of the last outpost of civilization for there is but one more. At the right time of the year they and the azaleas opposite frame the road in a boldness of colour not found deeper along its recesses.
The road narrows, follows the headland, turns back in on itself; the paddocks become forest, the broad vista shrinks.
On the left roads disappear, narrow tracks winding up to homes high above.
At the foot of one such steep track an abandoned swimming pool frame lies, testament to the futility of man in trying to civilize these primeval hills. On the right the river exists in glimpses; sometimes a brown, swollen sludge, sometimes a rushing, white effervescence. The trees become thicker, partly shedded bark hanging wistfully; my favourite part of the road. The closer the road skirts the river, the more prevalent are the casuarinas, holding giant birds’ nest ferns in their huge arms. Then the trees fall back, allowing the Old School House a breathing space. Small, graceful in this large landscape, it evokes images of a struggle for a future in this once, isolated river valley.
A little further on, the old Upper River Hall proudly survives in its original guise, an old lady now, looking a little tired, but still cared for and appreciated by those who know her.
Once the scene of local dances and large, inter-related family picnics, it is still the venue for weddings and other celebrations, silent movie shows and more family picnics. Guests spread out to the grass on the other side of the road, and on to the suspension bridge over the river. If they are lucky, they may see the resident platypus, but they are probably more likely to try to grab hold of the hanging rope and swing out over the river.
The large magnolia in the front garden on the coming corner highlights the way to continue.
A sharp zig-zag bend and the bitumen, not so long ago gravel, continues on, flanked by a wide, open paddock that my granddaughter longs to gallop across. The bitumen does end very shortly, at a causeway where many tourists turn round. Do they fear the depth, or what lies ahead? Or are they concerned by the derelict old busses in the adjoining paddock?
Once used as a scout camp, and one of them still fit enough for occasional use, these are magic busses to my grandchildren.
Be careful! If you enter the interiors of the disused ones you may be transported far away to some illusionary land.
And here the road enters its wildest, most enchanting section. The little gingerbread house, now mostly hidden by trees like so much else in this valley, stands at the gateway to the now narrow track, which winds on high above the often roaring river, at one stage almost directly above it. The road here is little more than one car width; when two cars meet it can be a very tight squeeze. The forest has become rainforest. You can sense rather than see the stricture of the valley walls. Both the escarpment and the bush creep closer. Until finally the road comes to its end. It has called us on all the way and now delivers the reward: the dramatic and spiritual vision of Flat Rock.
My painting of Upper River Road would be mainly green, but green in all its different shades and textures.
I could capture the sudden flight and colours of the rosellas and king parrots, the two white geese who somehow have survived for years, alone, without protection in a paddock beside the river, the wombats and wallabies that merge with the darkening light, but there is no way I could portray all the rainforest sounds that help provide the atmosphere of the road: the calls of birds and insects, the ever-changing voice of the river, the rustle in the undergrowth, the whispering of the trees. I would want to be able to portray a landscape that excited all the senses. I could not do it. I can only try to do so in words.
PS. Since I wrote this a month ago, the multicoloured letterboxes have been freshly painted in green and white. They certainly blend in more environmentally, but I rather miss the random splashes of colour they once provided.