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Barred Creek Wet Feet
Barred Creek is an acrylic painting on stretched canvas.
The painting is about a Kimberley spot, just north of Broome. The painting depicts wilderness with sun drenched beaches, adventure, beauty and rawness. A place where brave souls are drawn, hoping to catch fresh fish, but do you wonder who’s really the fisherman?
Available as a ready to hang print on stretched canvas.
Available in 2 sizes.
Out of stock
‘Barred Creek Wet Feet’ art painted by Suzanne Holland.
At the end of a sandy track, that meanders its ancient way around a dry river bed, similar to a rustic sun bleached veranda, Barred Creek finally spills out onto hot soft sand, north of Broome.
It’s a prized spot for trying your luck with fishing and is marked by a peninsula of beastie and beat up – 4WD’s, barbeques and bent fishing rods, after the wet.
The dark shadowy shapes of sharks cruise past, fish jump and dive from lines and hungry predators, once in a while a croc might slip by.
Dry season, the track is well worn under the weight of mates and the promise of fish.
We were there on one such day.
The urge was overwhelming, to paint the sand blown heat, the smell of salt and fat sausages.
Bold blues and greens, bounce off ‘Pindan’ and people, wanting to play.
The anticipation and patience of fisherman casting lines and sinking into the rising tide. The fun of lurking sea animals so tangible to the shore and the ignorant bliss of tourists.
Listen to the mangroves, they crack and creak in a language that is answered by hungry crabs drumming in the tide and bright coloured birds dancing the mangrove song. Little kids squeal and giggle in time with the squeeze sand. Far distant snippets of voices are carried on ‘tinnies’ and timeless winds.
As the sun sinks and tides turn, brave souls master a fire and a beer, while they wait for the moon and the fish to fry. Most people caterpillar their way one by one home.
Barred Creek, finally sweeps his veranda clean with salty water and sits patiently, an old man rocking the rhythm of waves and whittling away time on his driftwood.
His ancient sands rest before the next set of wet feet, footprint Barred Creek’s shores.