“One of the Aboriginal culture brothers, he writes the most beautiful love poetry. He had to be in love to write it, you know? And I thought, I’m not in love, how can I write one? So, I had to try and think back to when I might have thought I was in love and then embellish the feelings. So, that’s what I did. The only time I ever really thought I was in love it lasted six weeks and then bang! And so, I wrote a piece called Heartache. And in it I’ve got this lovely little term, it’s a simile: ‘Like withered persimmons on a drooping tree’. If you’ve seen a persimmon tree in autumn after the fruit, when the fruit is on its last – it looks like a tomato only it’s a light orange colour, with a very gelatinous pulp. I don’t think I’ve ever tasted it. The trees grow right out like a canopy. And then when its heavy with fruit it droops down and if the persimmons aren’t picked they’ll wither on the tree. I just love that image of withered persimmons on a drooping tree.”

– Aunty Barbara Nicholson, 12 March 2016

Photo by Nina Kourea