Highlights from Morton Bay, Sunshine Coast and the Glasshouse Mountains

By Deryn

Jun 20, 2020

Sibelius monumnet Helsinki showing organ pipes that are tree trunks of the forest

Photo Pixabay, Sibelious Monument,

Music becomes a voice for change

I have long believed that the arts serve purposes far beyond decoration. A painting can tell a story. A poem can preserve a memory. A novel can give a forgotten person a voice. Drama and dance are transient vehicles for storytelling. And music? Music can bring people together.  have seen something of this for myself in my travels. I have stood before the monument to Jean Sibelius in Helsinki, Finland, and I have visited Estonia. Standing in those places, knowing something of their history, gives a different meaning to the music. You begin to understand that these were not simply composers writing beautiful melodies. In times of oppression and uncertainty, music can become a vessel carrying the identity of an entire people.

Music when a nation finds its voice

Consider Finland. For more than six hundred years, Finland was part of the Swedish realm. In 1809, it passed from Sweden to the Russian Empire and became an autonomous Grand Duchy. During the nineteenth century, a growing Finnish cultural movement sought to strengthen a distinct national identity. The Kalevala compiled from Finnish oral poetry, became an important expression of that identity. Artists, writers, and musicians began to give Finland a language of its own, not necessarily a political language, but a cultural one.

Sculpture of Sibelious Head, Helsinki

Photo Pixabay, Sibelious Monument

Then came Sibelius. In 1899, during a period of increasing Russian pressure and attempts at Russification, Sibelius composed the music that would become Finlandia It was originally part of a series of historical tableaux presented at the Press Celebrations in Helsinki. The final section, known as “Finland Awakes,” stirred something deep in the Finnish people. Finlandia became a symbol of Finnish nationalism. When I stood before the Sibelius monument, I wasn’t just viewing a memorial to a famous composer. It reminded me of what happens when art helps people remember their identity. Sibelius helped give Finland a sound, and sometimes people need a sound before finding a voice. Organ pipes represented the trees of the forest; forests go deep into the psyche of the Finnish people, a voice that resonated with them.Estonian Music Festival Stand

Estonia sang its way toward freedom

I experienced a similar feeling when I visited Estonia. Domination by powerful neighbors has marked Estonia’s history, and during the Soviet period, language and national identity were under pressure. Yet Estonia had an extraordinary cultural treasure: its singing tradition.

The Singing Revolution of the late 1980s demonstrated just how powerful that treasure could become. Hundreds of thousands of Estonians gathered at the Tallinn Song Festival Grounds and sang traditional and patriotic songs together. They sang Mu isamaa on minu arm, “Land of My Fathers, Land that I Love,” a song that had become deeply associated with Estonian identity. They also sang the patriotic songs of composer Alo Mattiisen.Music of Estonian Dancers

Estonian Folk Dancers, Video - Deryn van der Tang

This was nonviolence; they were not taking up arms, they were raising their voices. By 1989, the movement had grown into the remarkable Baltic Way, when people in Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania joined hands in a human chain stretching across the three Baltic countries. Music had helped people remember they belonged to something larger than the political system that governed them.

The music that defied ruins

Then there is Sarajevo. During the terrible siege of Sarajevo in the 1990s, cellist Vedran Smailović became known as the “Cellist of Sarajevo.” After twenty-two people were killed while waiting for bread, Smailović returned to the devastated area and played Albinoni’s Adagio in G minor in their memory. Picture a city under attack. Amidst the broken buildings and people living in fear, a man sits with his cello and plays. The music could not stop the bombs, nor could it bring the dead back. But it declared something profound:

Beauty had not been destroyed. Human dignity had not been destroyed, and the human spirit had not been destroyed. That is the power of the arts.

Why do the arts matter?

When we talk about social change, we often think about politicians, protesters, legislation, and movements. And, of course, these matter. But underneath every movement is something deeper: a story about who we are and what we believe is worth preserving. Artists help us tell that story. A composer can give a nation a melody. Poets can preserve a language. Painters can capture a landscape that becomes part of a people’s memory. A storyteller can take the ordinary life of one family and reveal something universal about courage, suffering, and hope.

Perhaps that is why oppressive regimes have so often tried to control language, literature, music, and art. They understand something we sometimes forget: culture holds memory. And memory gives people identity.

The Bible tells us, “A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in pictures of silver” (Proverbs 25:11).

Sometimes someone speaks, paints, sings, or writes that word.

The arts may not change the world overnight. Yet, they have the power to shift how people view the world. And once people see differently, they may begin to think differently, hope differently, and eventually act differently.

As I think about Finland, Estonia, and many other places I have traveled, I remember that the arts form a vital part of human society. They are part of our inheritance; they carry the stories of those who came before us. They inspire courage in those struggling today and plant seeds of hope for future generations. Perhaps that is why music has such extraordinary power.

A single voice may be silenced, a single instrument broken, yet a song alive in people’s hearts proves much harder to destroy.

And sometimes, when a people begin to sing together, the world begins to listen.

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After my return from Perth, the last three weeks of my stay in Australia was meant to be a bit of family time and return home, but the shut downs after the Corona virus put paid to those plans. I stayed on another three months to see out the worst of the pandemic after three flights were cancelled. In many ways it was a bonus for me being able to spend more time with the family helping out with normal household chores. Once I got my head around the uncertainty of it all, I caught up with my life, trying to live it on four continents, messaging back and forth, and getting on with my artwork and writing. 

2020-05-02 16.29.20The first Saturday back we had a lovely trip out to Wellington Point, Morton Bay, with Bribie Island nestled in the entrance to the Bay, this the main sea port for ships entering Brisbane Harbor. We picnicked under an indigenous Morton Bay Fig Tree with its huge grey trunk and extending branches which threw a good shade to protect us from the sun.  We walked along the boardwalk to the pier where we experienced a stiff breeze and the salty smell of the sea. We stood with the wind ruffling our hair watching red and white sailed yachts tacking their way back to the harbor with billowing sails, before going to the café for a cup of coffee. We drove home again around the outskirts of Brisbane where we were able to see a different view of the city than that from the top of Mt Coot-ha. 

20200315_1538371044997727639563647.jpgSunday saw us walking through the Botanical Gardens and the Biosphere, looking at exotic plants and ferns. We made our way down to the Japanese Gardens with their peaceful lily pads, ordered bushes and tinkling stream flowing through the stepping stones. We also encountered enormous lizards which fascinated me at nearly two feet long! 

20200504_1555174978138841950680901.jpgThe final weekend before the ban on travel we took a weekend trip to the Sunshine Coast.  We stopped along the way at the famous Pie Shop where I had a delicious curried chicken pie for lunch. We stayed at a self-catering cabin in Moochadoore, right near the beach. We headed off to the beach in the afternoon enjoying the sand between our toes and the waves lapping around our feet, watching the sun set over the ocean. 

20200321_1243013802703388053241495.jpgThe highlight of this trip was a drive to Maleny and Montville, right up in the Glasshouse Mountains. We had lunch at The Secret Place, it lives up to its name hidden deep in the forest on the shores of Lake Maroon. We sat on the deck enjoying the view, framed by tropical plants and the artworks and rustic carved furniture.  I was privileged to meet Gary Myers at his Maleny Studio, an artist I very much admire for his colorful paintings of the area.  He gave me a brief painting lesson on how he does his paintings, it turns out he was also a cartographer in his younger days!  I bought one of his Art books as a memento.  We went back to Moochadoory for dinner and walk along the beach. Sunday, we headed down to Maloolabah to walk around the harbor and beaches. It was quite warm so we did not stay too long, we were excited to find a flame lily growing alongside the road, a symbol of our country of origin! We then drove home via the Pie shop for lunch after a very pleasant and fruitful trip.   

20200321_1430013118447520155204852.jpgThis was the last trip before travel restrictions were lifted in Queensland. Thus, followed about six weeks of total self-isolation going nowhere except twice out to the shops for urgent supplies and my daily walk up the road to the little park by Hibiscus and Paperbark Rds, Moggill. On my walks I looked closely for interesting or exciting things as I observed the trees, plants and bird life around me. When you take the time to really look, it is amazing what will inspire you! I spent time sewing masks, painting and writing, so nothing really changed from my daily routine at home. 

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