Silhouetted surreally against the outback sun, the sculptures – 51 of them – are mystically mesmerising and hauntingly beautiful. Each stands isolated, alone, 500m apart from each other, keeping a reverent, silent watch over the desert. I stand entranced. I’ve never seen anything like it.
I’m at Lake Ballard, a huge, dry lake that is home to the world’s largest outdoor art gallery. Here, 130km north of Kalgoorlie in the outback of Western Australia, the 51 whimsically crafted, chromium steel sculptures lie spread over 10 square kilometres – each modelled on a real resident of the near ghost-town of Menzies, 51km away. They are the creation of acclaimed British artist, Antony Gormley, an otherworldly spectacle borne out of the Perth International Arts Festival in 2003.
I’d seen pictures of the striking, life-like artworks many years ago and now I was finally here, walking amongst them. The stillness of the empty, seemingly endless salt bed and the ethereal presence of the stoic, ghost-like figures are overwhelming. The absence of phone reception heightens the sensation of complete tranquillity.
I walk alone, in silence, standing next to each sculpture for a few moments, and then I spot another in the mirage-hazed distance and set out for that one, reaching further across the lake, the crunch of my boots in the mushy, salt-laced dirt the only noise to break the overwhelming peace. I reach out for an ‘island’ in the lake, a small, mulga-cloaked knoll, and sit and rest, gazing back from where I came, the dispersed statues resembling mythical apparitions rising from the desert sands.
RELATED ⟶ THE EDGE OF AUSTRALIA
I head back to the carpark and climb a small hillock that provides a panoramic view across the most unusual, most awe-inspiring art gallery you may ever experience. You have to see it to feel it!
Back at the picnic and camp area beside the lake, where my motorhome is, and incredibly moved by my soul-lifting time amongst the ‘people’ of the desert, I prepare dinner in silence, and when night falls, I can make out their outlines etched into the darkness. I feel their presence, and inside me builds a strange but warm affinity with them.
I’m so glad I made the effort to get here – an experience I’ll always cherish. The ghosts of Lake Ballard lie eight hours east of Perth and to make the trip, I hired a motorhome from Maui for a few days, heading into the desert via the Great Eastern Highway.
Yes, a motorhome is large, but it was easy to drive, and it offered me the freedom, flexibility, convenience and comfort I was after to visit the isolated figures of Lake Ballard. Everything was with me in my home on wheels – a bed, table, shower, toilet, cooking facilities and, yes, even the kitchen sink, and I could spend the night wherever I wanted, including the remote campground of Lake Ballard.
Everything feels big in WA – Australia’s biggest state.
My route took me across the goldfields of Western Australia to Australia’s largest outback town, Kalgoorlie, where the sudden wealth of the 1890s gold rush is evident in the grand buildings and graceful hotels that line the main street. Everything feels big in WA – Australia’s biggest state. The roadtrains and trucks – many heading to the mines – are big, the highway signs are over-sized, the distances are vast, and the horizons stretch inexorably into the distance, inviting exploration, something easy to do when you have everything you need with you in a motorhome.
On my way back to Perth, driving through abandoned hamlets that sprung up almost overnight in the gold rush and disappeared mere years later almost as quickly, my ‘cup’ is full from my brief but powerful sojourn in the desert and my encounter with the eternal residents of Lake Ballard.
Back in bustling Perth, rattled by the sudden busyness of the roads after days of traffic-free seclusion, I spend my final night in WA at the Rendezvous Scarborough Hotel, Perth’s only beachside high-rise, which offers stunning views over the Indian Ocean. The choice is strategic.
As a creature of the east coast, I’m finely attuned to the ritual of dawn coffee to watch the sun rise over the Pacific. But here on the west coast, I want the thrill of toasting a sunset over the Indian Ocean with a beer, and that I do from my lofty hotel balcony. The colourful spectacle is almost as rewarding as the cold drink in my hand, which amiably washes any remnant desert dust from my throat.
And as the sun dips beyond the horizon, I think of the 51 lonely spirits on that dry lake as night befalls them yet again, and I extend a toast to them as well.
Andrew Mevissen was a guest of Maui Motorhomes and Rendezvous Hotel Perth
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