Hand, Sand & Soul (Sand Art by Ilana Yahav)

One of the aims of The Ponder Room is to profile inspirational people who enhance our world. On that note it’s great to see both James Foley and Lincoln Fenner continuing to have more and more success. Recently a friend introduced me to Ilana Yahav’s work …utterly amazing.



Ilana Yahav sand art



Ilana uses her hands, sand, music, light and most importantly her soul to make truly amazing images about friendship, love, compassion, and peace. Each performance begins as an idea in a sketchpad and undergoes hours of refinement way before she picks up her first grain of sand.

Her work has been seen all over the world including by the King of Spain, King of Belgium and thousands of people at the Kremlin where she was accompanied by four orchestras.

Watching her hands glide across the screen I found myself pondering about Maori, Hawaiian and Malaysian dancers. Reading Ilana’s website sandfantasy I also pondered once again, how often childhood passions resurface in what people excel at as adults.

Ilana Yahav

‘The experience of direct contact with sand enthralled me already as a child,’ Ilana recalls,

‘It was a happy childhood along the shores of the Mediterranean, which I would visit every day on my way to school. I would draw a personal story, a kind of living diary in the sand. I would draw quickly, trying to finish it all before the wave would come and wipe everything out. I was totally spellbound. I would stand and watch until the drawing disappeared, realizing that everything is transient and temporary…’

Who knew a childhood spent playing at the beach could result in inspirational messages being sent out across the world. Ponder that next time your youngest is totally immersed in sandcaslte construction (who knows what's really going on in that little head), or when you want an excuse to run away to the beach for an afternoon.

Ilana’s work can be seen at  http://sandfantasy.com/  ... watch out for the shark rescue.  

A momentary peek into the celebrity lifestyle

The other night I went out with three female friends to celebrate their birthdays. While I anticipated an evening of lashings of fluid, exquisite food and infinite chatter, I hadn’t banked on the evening providing a peek inside the celebrity lifestyle.

A few years ago some members of this gang of four accompanied me to Incontro in South Perth (review can be found in http://www.theweeklyreview.com.au/). There we experienced head chef Peter Manifi’s divine chocolate donut concoction, and as soon as we set our spoons down we made a pact to return another day just for dessert. A few days later we heard that Peter had opened a sister restaurant Beluga in Claremont Quarter, so we decided to check that out instead.

Arriving a little early two of us slipped into The Duchess for a quick drink before making our way over to Beluga.

Stepping inside Beluga we were ushered past the open kitchen into a small area separated by a chainmail curtain. While we could no longer experience the theatre of the open kitchen, the privacy was much appreciated, especially since the acoustics meant we could hear each other a little easier. Besides sometimes our dinner conversations can become quite revealing … revealing words I hasten to add, incase you’re getting the wrong idea.

What followed was a shared selection of: New Norcia Flatbread; beer battered oysters that even got the tick of approval from the most oyster-averse amongst us; an insanely creamy mushroom polenta; a decent garden salad; beer battered squid; and their signature dish of roast Banjo Dorper lamb shoulder. The lamb arrived at the table on the bone and then proceed to slide off right in front of our eyes. Dessert followed, also shared: a light chocolate mouse; a caramelised banana topped chocolate brownie; and a cannoli with hazelnut and pistachio cream. Sadly no photos, though I’m sure there’ll be a repeat visit, with camera.

Finally stepping around the chainmail curtain we realised we were the last to leave, an occurance that seems to haunt me these days no matter who I go with.

I know what you’re thinking no celebrity lifestyle in any of this, but wait there's more ….

Making our way back to the basement car park we walked past the entrance, not recognising the now gated loading dock, as the one we had entered earlier. After a double take we noticed a large sign informing all that the car park closed at 10pm. Now well past midnight we four stood staring at the sign willing it to change.

Sure we could leave the car overnight, but then we read the ‘Recovery Fee'.  At the same time the cars owner realised that the car also contained her garage door opener, and being security minded this was the only access into her home.

Panic started to set in as we stood on the darkening Claremont streets, streets that any woman growing up in Perth knows, are best walked through rather than lingered upon, especially after midnight. There was nothing for it we had to get into the car.

Thankfully one of our fabulous four noticed an after hours security number. The guard arrived within 10 minutes and we explained our dilemma. Somehow we managed to present the perfect combination of panic, calm and gratitude, without talking over each other, an achievement sadly lacking during our earlier dinner gabfest.

And then it happened …

The security guard walked us through the laneway to a colossal roller door, where we stood side by side in a line staring ahead. Imagine the huge Myers roller door that holds back the salivating masses prior to the Boxing Day Sales.

Turning a small key the door inched up to reveal all … the Claremont Quarter link… glittery stores, soft golden lights, and magnificent window displays … Claremont Quarter opening up like a oyster revealing it’s pearl … for us.

The four of us strolled through Claremont Quarter, the guard leading the way and I found myself pondering …

1. I’d love to have seen a photo of us all as the door opened, I’m sure our eyes would have been as wide as when we’d spied our first bike under the Christmas tree.
2. So this is what it must feel like to be an ubber celebrity, one who gets stores opened so they can shop in peace, the likes of Michael Jackson, Elizabeth Taylor or Za Za Gabor in their heyday perhaps.  
3. I have to admit it felt a little bit Sex And The City. The only thing left to do was to work out who was who … though perhaps best not.

Footnote: Incase you're thinking of going to Claremont Quarter in the evening but worry about parking access after 10pm, fear not, there is another entrance to the carpark evidently ... but where's the fun in that!

When residents design the city Part 6: Chaos

Meanwhile back at the Home Sweet Home charity design project things were getting more and more complicated ...

The animals had taken to grazing on the roof of the Butchers shop ... weird choice!


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A fire broke out ...  the Army arrived and seemed extremely interested in one house.


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Then the main runway at the airport cracked in two.

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At least eveything seemed quiet at the waterfront where residents hid in their houseboats.
Looking at the carnage I was left pondering whether the real Perth waterfront design has allowed space for houseboats? ... if not maybe the house with the Tardis was on to something, and we should all leave a little space incase the Doctor needs to visit?

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Milestone Marketing warning for young marketers

So you’ve been asked to develop of a new marketing strategy, but for some reason all the creative nerve endings in your brain appear to have retracted like a snail that’s just spied Manu Feildel swaggering by fry pan in hand. Given the deadline you ponder the only thing left … the tried and true. But what if you’re trying to rise above celebrity endorsements, price wars or competitor sledging, what then? Well you may find yourself turning to Milestone Marketing, but be warned, just like sautéed garlic snails the end result isn’t always palatable.

Thanks to Will Clayton

Finance, Health and Insurance companies can often be seen employing Milestone Marketing strategies. The scruffy blonde surfer dude, surfboard in tow, high school fading from his memory as he embarks on his first overseas holiday with seven mates ... travel insurance anyone? Or the young couple looking blissfully at the quaint Fremantle heritage cottage, unaware of the perils of DIY rewiring without the safety net of building insurance, or more importantly Ambulance Cover. Both reasonable examples of Milestone Marketing. But consider this ….

You’ve just reached a milestone birthday let’s say the big one … 50.



Thanks to muteboy

 Much rejoicing has taken place over the past few weeks.

You’ve survived the family dinner, the ‘hilarious’ personal roast put on by your work colleagues.

You’ve even made it through the big backyard bash attended by a mishmash of friends and acquaintances ...

A sea of mates accumulated through school, various workplaces, sporting clubs, kids friends, exes, some you can’t recall how you actually met, and one you’re convinced just walked in off the street, even though he seems to know way to many intimate details about your university days.

You’ve even survived the milestone gift to yourself, be it a Harley Davidson ride, skydiving or an inconspicuous tattoo. Well inconspicuous as long as that particular area of skin doesn’t undergo the same inexplicable extensive sagging recently taking place in other usually unseen parts. The weeklong hangover has subsided, and you’re settling in for many months of mellow musings as you help your mates celebrate their own milestones. Then a week after the celebrations your phone rings.

‘Hi, I’m …’ You’re about to hang up knowing that by this age you have no need of a new solar hot water system, garage door or financial advisor, and since you’ve just purchased 10 tickets in the Wheelchair Sports lottery, your charity conscience is also clear. But then you hear ...

‘ …Dr Elewishus…’

A Doctor, that’s different, maybe it’s not a telemarketer, so you carry on listening.

‘I’m calling on behalf of the government.’

Ok, still listening but somewhat less enthused.

‘We’re running free health checks … hearing tests actually’. And then the clincher …‘yes hearing checks for anyone over the age of 50.’

It’s about now that it hits you. Pondering your future you realise it’s not going to include telemarketers enlisting your support for a new Club Med Surf School. Nor market researchers enquiring about your reactions to the latest indie music festival or Top 100. No, it dawns on you that your calls will probably be about haemorrhoid creams, concealers and female viagra. But mainly you’re left pondering … couldn’t they have waited at least a month or two before calling.

Be that a lesson to all you young advertising account directors out there. If you’ve obtained that golden ticket of direct marketing, a list of people reaching significant milestones, be very careful how and with what you approach them. Remember 50 is the new 30, well at least that’s the goss amongst the 50 year olds I spoke to, and anything with the words drooping, sagging, hearing impairment and heaven forbid funerals, should be confined to those excitedly awaiting a telegram from the Queen … and even then you’d better tread carefully after all if logic follows then 100 is the new 80.

Forget Eat, Pray, Love give me sweet treats, a tea cosy and a voluminous heart (Mothers Day)

After two weeks of: back to back meetings; looming deadlines; computers with blocked sites (five minutes after workshop attendees sat down to start); a book launch; book deliveries; invoicing; a fridge that stopped working for three days; and a disappointingly avoidable speeding ticket, there was one thing I was hanging out for ….

Sunday afternoon would see me sitting down with one of the people responsible for bringing me into this world … mum.



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While the upward spiralling pace of life sees us steadfastly pursuing the next object, desire or goal, it’s all too easy to forget about the people who made our lives possible.

The ones we hid behind on our first day at school. Who pushed us through the heavy classroom doors, giving us our first taste of freedom. Who explained the ‘less is more’ rule, the first time we sprang exuberantly from the bedroom festooned in rouge, and drowning under so much mascara that our lashes stuck together. Who let us in on the secret ‘cleavage to material’ ratio that would entice, but not overwhelm, the current object of our affection. Who pointed out the previously unseen toad-like qualities of our first ‘true love’, who inevitably left us in a crumpled teary mess on the couch. Who made sure our first kitchen had a copy of the CWA Cookbook, while turning a blind eye to the sexy lingerie and satin sheets wafting on the clothesline.

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After my weekly soul boosting cupper with my mum, I’m left pondering how it is that mothers can constantly dust us off, put life back into perspective, then add the right amount of sympathy and forcefulness to get us back on the path again. I’m beginning to think they slip something into our tea.



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To all mothers out there and those living on in their children’s memories … thank you.

Magnetic domes stubbled not smooth

The other night I once again fell victim to the attraction of the dome, particularly humanoid dome-like shapes. When in the vicinity of a human dome my right arm moves involuntarily towards the structure no matter the size, or disposition, of its owner …

Babies I’m sure you’ll agree are understandable. Should a baby’s head be nearby I instantly feel my right arm extending. My hand not satisfied until it comes to rest cradling the poor things cranium. Lightly stroking the warm bumps, the peaks and troughs, I continue totally oblivious to the reaction of the unsuspecting soul who’s only been in this world for a matter of months. In true meditative style, everything else drifts away. I’m oblivious to the mothers reaction, only aware of the soft warmth beneath my hand. The most recent time was last week at my Me Time book launch, when I got sidetracked by my friend (and fellow blogger) Shannons latest addition to her brood see shannons blog. But it doesn't stop there ...

thanks to christine (cbszeto)

So too pregnant bellies. Also quite acceptable I’d ponder. Strangely though this only extends to a four month old belly. For some, so far un-pondered reason, an eight month swollen belly doesn’t emanate the same enthusiasm. Perhaps the sheer size and bulbousness intimidates the comparative narrowness of my palm. Or maybe it's the way the bellybutton starts to protrude signaling the inhabitants imminent arrival.

I'm sure Freud would have an explanation … innate desire signifying an intense longing to return post haste to the womb, no doubt. As my phone beeps indicating yet another meeting, and my calendar blinks red, festooned with deadlines and appointments I have to concede it’s a distinct possibility.

But why I ponder, do I get the same reaction when spying a recently cropped adult male head?

Thanks to Thardy1

Businessman or skinhead, five foot tall or six, my hand extends to them all. At least I can’t be accused of being racist, ethnicity and socioeconomic background hold no weight, all receive a caress. To my shame even the immensely brave post-chemo soul isn’t safe once their soft regrowth starts to kick in. All domes have to be stroked.

Given this perhaps you can imagine my intense apprehension while in Melbourne last year where I spent three days in extremely close proximity to …

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Thankfully I can report that His Holiness left Australia unscathed.

This was however in no part due to a new found ability to control my desire. Nor was it due to the bravery of the Dalai Lama’s security contingent. No I’d ponder it was mainly due to my overwhelming sense of confusion. The room you see was festooned with bald heads, monks from all corners of the world congregating in one space.

Actually if I ponder a little longer ... I realise that while I may not be racist I may indeed be a baldist.

Over the years I, like you, have been conditioned through marketing to find the 5 o’clock shadow more sexually attractive than the clean shaven man. So too it would seem a completely bald head now fails to generate the same reaction as a stubbled dome. All I can say is thank goodness for marketing .... otherwise there could have been an incredibly embarrassing stage dive towards the Dalai Lama ... at least the skinheads would have been proud.

Perth has stolen the heart of New York (AGWA Manhattan-style bar)

This morning I was summoned to the Art Gallery of Western Australia (AGWA) which I must admit wasn’t a top priority having had a particularly big weekend. Besides in terms of art while I can probably recognise an Andy Worhol, Pablo Picasso or a Jackson Pollack that’s about my limit. Brancusi sounds like a health conscious bruschetta and Chirico one of those chocolate dipped Mexican donut treats, or are they Spanish? I’ll ponder that later. Meanwhile I have to say the visit to AGWA had me pondering …

To begin with Dr Stefano Carboni, Director of the Art Gallery of Western Australia (AGWA), revealed that this winter Perth streets would come alive with New York’s vibrant culture. I for one say yay!, or should that be ‘cool’, ‘rad’, ‘brill’, or perhaps an unperceivable nod of the head is more appropriate. Okay clearly I’ll have to work on my New York cool … a lot!

Andy Warhol (American, 1928 to 87) Self Portrait 1966
© 2012 Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Arts Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York

You may have read that in an exclusive partnership between AGWA and the MoMA, Perth will present six unique exhibitions over the next three years. Just like the highly successful Princely Treasures, Perth will be the only venue in the nation to display these iconic works. Woohoo, oh sorry …cool man!

I was pleased to see that the series extends beyond the Masters (blasphemy I know), to include black and white photographs of New York. The six events are: 

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1. Picasso to Warhol: Fourteen Modern Masters (e.g. Worhol, Pollock, Picasso, Matisse)
2. Picturing New York: Photographs from the Museum of Modern Art
3. Van Gogh to Richter: People places things (working title)
4. Contemporary Encounters (working title)
5. Counter Space: Design and the Modern Kitchen
6. Masterpieces of Post Impressionism (working title)

‘It is a privilege and an honour for AGWA to partner with the MoMA and be the only gallery in the Southern hemisphere to host these extraordinary exhibitions,’ Stefano said adding that it’s also ‘a bit scary’.

Culture and Arts Minister John Day opened the first exhibition Picasso to Warhol: Fourteen Modern Masters (which runs from June 16 – December 3^rd) and explained that the experience will go beyond an exhibition to include a Manhattan Bar offering a taste of New York. Now you’re talking!



John Day The Ponder Room

‘The partnership between AGWA and MoMA will see Perth’s Cultural Centre transformed into a hub of bustling activity, inspired by the cultural vibrancy of New York … In addition the exhibition series will offer a complete New York experience for all ages with entertainment, music food, shopping and the exclusive Manhattan-inspired Bar,’ Mr Day said.

The AGWA Nights at the Gallery will be held every Friday night from 5pm. Prefect timing now that the Festival Gardens and the Rooftop Movies have closed.

For the marketing conscious amongst us the advertising concept stemmed from the idea of how New Yorkers would feel if their iconic Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) went on tour.

‘This idea quite literally pays homage to the enormous pride and value that New Yorkers place in MoMA and their city’s cultural scene. While MoMA visits Perth, New York’s momentary loss is Perth’s gain,’ Stefano said.

No doubt I’ll be explaining more over the coming months but at the moment, like me you may want to start pondering … 

1. How to clear some space in your diary to experience at least one of the Friday nights at AGWA. Word of warning: The opening night has already sold out.
2. Just what is the cool thing to say at artsy events these days? Any suggestions would be greatly appreciated.
3. They're also looking for volunteers. If you're interested phone 94926640 or go to http://www.artgallery.wa.gov.au/

When residents design the city Part 5 Neighbours (Home Sweet Home)

Back in the daylight hours, I was reminded that while we may try to be the rulers of our own domain, we have no control over what our neighbours do, or who they invite over. And while we all strive to live harmoniously sometimes our limits can be tested.

A back patio is one thing, but according to one family what backyard doesn't need a .....


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 ... Tardis. Clearly this Councils definition of multiculturalism is all encompassing.

It did leave me pondering about the poor neighbours who by default backed onto the Tardis. Would they be happy with prosthetic wearing intergalatic beings knocking on their door scrounging a cup of sugar, or Darlects dropping in for Friday night drinks. Perhaps they'd be appeased if the good Dr dropped by occasionally with his sonic screwdriver to help adjust a bracket or two.

Which leaves me pondering many things but mostly ... what would Darlects take to a 'bring a plate' evening? Any Doctor Who fans out there may have an idea or two.




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LSD legal in Perth

Last week I found myself in a Perth establishment that said it offered 'the Byron Bay favourite' … LSD. 


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I have to admit that my mind set has been a tad more experimental of late, reason being an upcoming significant birthday. Consequently my desire for new experiences and challenges has been growing every week, and this … would definitely be a challenge.



Fresh from a beachside photo shoot for the Me Time launch (another challenge, more on that later), I returned to said establishment and considered my options. 



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On arrival I was ushered into ‘The Green Room’ where fake grass lined the floor and continued up the walls. While the recycled tyre stools looked interesting, I’m now wise enough to know that my stomach muscles would soon be protesting my stupidity. The same reasoning has me regularly circumnavigating the section of the gym that houses the fit ball collection.

Perched on a luminous pink chair, I noticed a buckled stop sign at my feet and that the tables were festooned with graffiti. Clearly the owners relished the unconventional.

  After some hesitation I placed my order ….

‘One LSD please’, then pondered what was to come, along with whether I should call my nearest and dearest to convey my eternal love and gratitude one last time.


Just as I was about to cancel my order  it arrived … my very first attempt at LSD ...

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LSD …a hot latte, soya milk dandelion drink. …and the verdict?


Bliss … a silky smooth, nutty taste without the sugary sweetness of a hot chocolate, or the bitterness of coffee.

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Slowly sipping my LSD, not wanting to rush the experience, especialy as it was my first time, I was oblivious to the fact that a habit was already forming … I’ve already been back three days in a row for a fix.

Gotta run ... I’m off in search of a place that offers Hot Effervescent Red Onion Infused Nachos. By the way, as with most great secrets if you want to know where the outlet is you’ll have to contact me directly, after all I couldn't possbily reveal my source publicly.

Stop Press: So many people have asked me where this is ... it's the Wild Fig Cafe in Scarborough