Yesterday, after probably the most productive bout of work I've done the whole time I've been here, my hard drive died.

I swear it has comic timing.

It did this before, just after the most productive bout of work I'd done on our 2007 comedy festival script, an adaptation of which I am now working on. Maybe it's the project. Either way, I am, and shall remain, unimpressed.

They day before this happened, we had just driven to Nowra. Driving to Nowra is a metaphor for progress and civilisation if ever there was one. It's a rough road to get there, it has coffee and an art deco movie theatre and lovely people who do small talk and run bookshops, but its main achievement is a sprawling pod of enormous, cheap shopping centres around which bored youths gather, in many cases with their own children, and eat fried chicken with plastic forks. In the carpark prowls a man in a luminous jacket. The parking ticket guy. "Watch him", say the locals, their eyes narrowing.

If you're at Bundanon, you really have to want to go to Nowra, in order to go to Nowra. You really have to need supplies. If you could eat grubs and moss, you probably would. But, the day before yesterday, we went to stock up. Stew needed a cable from Dick Smiths. I needed a coffee and some fresh vegies. It took forever. The parking ticket guy was prowling, there were products here that were cheaper over there, there we youths eating chicken and effectionately giving each other the finger everywhere you looked. Knowing I didn't want to come back, I had two coffees in order to make it worthwhile. Not having had a coffee for two weeks, I then went completely silly and had to go for an hour-long walk upon my return to Bundanon. Pacing around the farm past wombats, birds, and kangaroos, I promised myself I wouldn't go back to Nowra unless there was some kind of national emergency. Then, fuelled by my two coffees, I wrote prolifically (noticing briefly that there was a funny noise in the computer) and went to bed.

HA HA! said my hard drive. THIS IS MY CUE!

Please, I beg you, back up. Do it now! Leave! Back your stuff up! All it takes is one tiny little thing to go wrong and you lose everything. Doing a backup the previous day, Stew had called from his studio, "Has that file trasnfer finished?" and I had replied, "Yes".

I was wrong. Although I have backed up recently, and I sent one of the most recent versions of the thing I was writing in an email to Stew yesterday, I am yet to discover what terrifyingly important things I have sent off into the ether. Not to mention my software. Not to mention my internet bookmarks from the research I'd been doing. My hard drive, somewhere in hard drive hell, is raising a patronising eyebrow and saying, "Well, you could have backed it all up. It's not like you haven't been here before." It's probably hanging out with my previous hard drive. Playing cards and reading all my old stuff.

So we had to go to frigging Nowra again. The day after I swore we never would. So we did, we went straight back to Dick Smith's and bought another expensive cable. Thanks to some seriously impressive nerd work on Stew's part, although my hard drive is wiped, I have my computer back and I can start afresh, resurrecting the files I did back up.

Still, if there wasn't a gallah outside my window and a week-old lamb in  a cardboard box in the studio next to mine (had a cold night, rejected by mum) then I doubt I would be coping quite so well with my hard drive's sense of humour.

Thanks to Stew for helping me. Thanks to Nowra, as a metaphor for civilisation, for saving me by providing a cable. Thanks to the wonderful Julia for taking me through the Boyd archives yesterday and letting me wear white gloves and marvel at the original Picasso and all the Boyds and Nolans and therefore making an otherwise terrible day completely and utterly worthwhile. I doubt you could every truly complain of a wasted day at Bundanon. Hurrah for that.

So apparently I have my days wrong and we are currently on Day 6 here at Bundanon. My God it's a beautiful place. I tied myself in lots of knots with my writing today and yesterday and this afternoon I HOPE I have turned a corner. Writing is so hard. It's glorious when it's fun but at certain points, it's so hard. It doesn't matter where you are. When you're here, though, it's easy to go for a walk and come back with a new head on your shoulders (not literally obviously, they're into sculpture here but they can't work miracles).

Today, finally, we went on an official tour of Yvonne and Arthur Boyd's house and of Arthur's studio. The house is a big sandstone house built in 1868. It has stuff like this lying around in it:

... Painted by Arthur and featuring this awesome little animal he invented called a Ramox, which is usually perving at him from the hinterland in all his paintings. Apparently he and Yvonne were busted with torchlights doing something not very military when he was in the army, so he reckoned "You're never alone", which is certainly true around here (see wombat, below).

I also found what I'd been looking for - a painting by Yvonne Boyd, who apparently gave up painting when she had kids. I really like this (excuse the reflection) and not only because it's set in Fitzroy!

Then we went to Arthur's studio.

Check out the colours (and imagine the smells!):

The studio is left as it was when he died. These paints were used by him and mixed in larger containers. The top of this desk is clear glass. You wouldn't know it. The larger containers look like this:

Some of the paintbrushes were put on extenders that he made from bits of the surrounding bush so he didn't have to reach so high or bend down so low. A few of the smaller paintbrushes were made by him. For the brush parts, he used his daughter's hair.

As I think I mentioned in an earlier post, Arthur (as they all call him around here) was painting an enormous canvas once and the guy came to collect it. Arthur revealed he had no idea how he was going to get the canvas out of the studio. He told the guy to go and have a cup of coffee and he'd figure it out. The guy came back and Arthur was hacking this long rectangular hole in the side of the studio with a chainsaw. Problem solved.

The painting below was painted at the Shoalhaven river, which is one of the most beautiful places on earth. We saw a video of Arthur painting it. He had three fish on a hook nailed into the wall. It was great to watch and was interpreted by our guide today as a comment on how contemporary Christian religion (the cross, the trinity, the fish) doesn't quite fit in the Australian landscape. Note his old jumper on the chair.

As I said, everything remains untouched. His slippers under his chair:

His final painting:

And several CDs and records left near his record player. Chopin is the only one I remember.

And here's my favourite photograph from the tour of Arthur Boyd's studio. See if you can spot the subliminal Standing There Productions Extremely Sensible Person in this shot:

By the way, you like how Arthur has cut a square out of his desk so he can chuck old rags in there? Apparently "some artists like a bit of mess" according to the tour. Oh reeheeally?

Anyway, that was this morning. This afternoon I went back to my own studio to go cross-eyed over this thing I'm writing. I've decided to completely re-write it and compare the two results when I've done them. It's risky, terrifying, depressing and liberating all at the same time. I spoke to another writer doing a residency here and she told me she was going stir crazy too. Maybe artists also need mental instability?

Lastly, here's the latest Womby update. This was on my walk back from the homestead:

So this is just to dispell any myths that might be generating as a result of my rather nature-based reports of late along the lines that I am doing very little else with my time than wombat-spotting. This is not true. I am also working, thinking, writing. This is the wall of my studio:

Please note the bull outside. I don't know who put that there but that's just cheeky. This wall makes a lot of sense to me and has proven extremely helpful for the writing I do in that chair (from which I witness many dramas including the hilarious daily pantomime entitled "Bird Does A Dance On Bull Who Can't Do Anything About It" which is a real David and Goliath show-stopper).

And for those of you who think my obsession with wombats is a little over the top, please direct your attention to my other studio wall, where this has been painted, presumably by a previous artist in residence:

Definitely the unofficial Bundanon mascot. I saw about twenty of these on my walk to the river today. Seriously I've never seen more of them in my life. Never get sick of them though. Hilarious little things. Better go and attempt to decipher my wall now. Goodie.

Bundanon. Tonight. It's raining. Here's our resident wombat. Things go a little awry near the end of the video because Stew (lighting designer of this particular movie) has a better idea and goes inside for better equipment. This leaves me (DOP) with no choice but to move, causing womby to scuttle off. Don't worry, he was back in a matter of seconds and we can still hear him out there now. Hopefully he's getting as much work done as we are, since it's raining like hell and we're stuck in our studios. Thanks to Stew for uploading this.

  They really are the most bizarre creatures. Here's one from our walk today (we've seen seven today). They're quite like koalas. At the end of this video, Stew captures some poor girl who's apparently embarrassed to be filmed. Possibly because she is wearing a luminous blue jumper and hasn't brushed her hair. I dunno. Point is: wombats are cool.

On with the writing. If the rain keeps up, I could be here until Tuesday.      

Well, Rita Walsh has done it again.

Just when we thought the word "congratulations" was starting to become a cliche, Rita's short film, Hugo (which has already won Grand Prize for Fantasy at the Rhode Island Film Festival, won an AWGIE and been selected for Palm Springs) has been selected for the Chicago International Childrens FIlm Festival, which is extremely exciting. Rita is now in Palm Springs and will be greeted with considerable respect when she arrives at Bundanon, where word has spread of her ridiculously heady achievements.

Meanwhile, at Bundanon, the biggest event on our social calendar was last night's "Artists' Drinks" which consisted of some very delicious local wines, some lovely artists and some of the Bunanon peeps (including the person responsible for the excellent Bundanon website, go here). After the drinks, someone decided it would be nice to have an unofficial tour of Arthur Boyd's studio. It's the actual studio he worked in, left completely as it was when he died (his paint-splattered slippers are still under his chair). It was amazing. It was even more amazing because we couldn't find the light switch so the studio tour was done under torch light.

With the lights out, you smell everything much more than you might otherwise. The smell of paints in an art studio are so exciting to me. They speak of possibility. I wish laptops had such an inspiring smell. That way, I might create with a greater fervour. As it is, I sit here in my own studio, with my own view out the window and the laptop in front of me and I discover that other great inspirer: headspace. Having nothing else to do really is such a luxury. Arthur and Yvonne Boyd must have known that. I've had more thinking time than I ever usually would, as well as more writing time, and... I'm allowed to write on the walls! I'm starting to fear what it might be like to return to civilian life.

The best thing in the world is not having to worry about work, or dishes, or having to go and do social things (which are lovely, but which are not an option here, so that distraction doesn't exist!). In fact, here, nobody cares enough to interrupt you. They're all busy doing their own thing. Here is a photo of nobody caring about what I'm doing:

That cow on the right is particularly disinterested.

These guys don't care either:

So really, it's just me with my own mind. Which is being stimulated constantly by views like this:

That's Arhur and Yvonne Boyd's the original owners' Aboriginal stockman's hut (sorry, got that wrong originally). It's teensy weensy. Behind it is Australian bush, featuring about a trillion kangaroos about the size of Wayne Carey, and not dissimilar in appearance. Here is Arthur and Yvonne's house:

There's a tour of the house on Sunday, which I hope to go to. Whenever Sunday might be.

I'm going to try to remember for another reason too. Rita is on radio at 8am Australian time on this station. Of course she is. Captain Famous Pants talks to the peeps. Can't wait to hear it. Go Rita!

This is our second full day at Arthur Boyd's farm, Bundanon. I don't know enough about Arthur or Yvonne (I intend to find out more) but I do know that I am a little bit in love with them both. This place is amazing. On our first night we met an enormous wombat on our balcony. We've met many kangaroos, rock wallabies, and birds aplenty. There is a sculpture by Sydney Nolan on our porch. I have two appointments the entire time I'm here. One of them is in 45 minutes and it's Artists' Drinks. The best kind!

So far today I have done more writing work than all the weeks in the entire past month combined.

Here are some photos of what an artist residency at Bundanon looks like in the first few days. I need to credit Stew of course for the photos. The average ones were taken by me. Like, for instance, this one:

This is Stew's studio about three seconds after we arrived:

Even the bedrooms are cool!

This is our apartment (Stew gets one end and I get the other). Rita gets one to herself:

Note the little desk where I can do work. It's so odd to have a loungeroom with no TV but goodness me do you get some work done.

That's all for now, there are drinks to be had.

Before I write about Bundanon, where we have finally arrived and in which I am already completely in love, let me fill you in on stops 2, 3 and 4.

Our second stop after Mansfield (of Subway fame) was Bright. We drove there via Jamieson, which has a population of 88 humans and maybe a billion birds. It's completely gorgeous. Here's a sample:

As you can see, the locals kept to themselves a bit.

Then we went to the snow. How awesome is nature? It did this all by itself!

Then of course, coming up against nature all the time is humankind. I have a friend who discovered when he came to Australia for the first time that Australians don't like littering.

They don't like it, but they do it anyway, using what they seem to think is a littering loophole: it's not litter if you stand it up.

Slot a chip packet between two boards in a fence: not litter. Stand a beer bottle up on a pub window: not litter. Apparently, the same rule goes for the snow.

Good way of keeping your beer cold I guess.

Mind you, we enjoyed our own beverages on our food and wine tour, OH YES WE DID! Check it:

So much more sophisticated. We were driven to this place in a stretched limo and we tasted cheese, olives, wines and at one point Stewart went missing and was discovered behind a sign that said FUDGE TASTING.

This leg of our trip was a present. It was the most lovely present in the world. Well, that and the new set of tyres we got just before we left (thanks dad!) which have been tested many times along the way, and will be again I'm sure, due to the fact that the driveway to Bundanon is longer and more filled with holes than a long thing filled with holes.

More when the photos have downloaded. We're off for a quick walk with the wombats. Seriously.