The artist is always guided by the signs in the work as the revelations of the path about to be taken. In the essence of this is the concept of movement and transformation which I am exploring through the framework of certain superstitious practices related to my cultural heritage (throwing of the water, coffee reading), but also through the story of a hermit and desert wanderer, Mary of Egypt. Both aspects allow for a continuation of my interest in the way subjectivity is formed and reformed, by way of a perpetual movement of becoming, particularly in relation to the artistic agency.

In my work I strive to re-present my experience of the natural world as somewhere newly discovered, and to render it less familiar with a heightened intimacy and sensuality. I characterise my process as one involving ‘scratching away’, ‘teasing apart’ and ‘burrowing in’. An attempt to paint the subject from the inside out, in deference to its inscrutability and grandeur.

I have a longstanding interest in Animist belief systems that invest all life, and our planet, with ‘spirit’, and I value an anthropomorphising of life forms over the reductive commodification that has occurred.

The signs are clear that nothing miraculous will happen to restore the Earth’s health, the omens of impending doom are getting louder. Yet the wonders are still present - precious. So why make art when the world is in crisis?

These paintings are moments of stillness in the tumult of this context. They hold grief, fear, new life and death. Within each is a small prayer for the world, a divination of natural forces, a conjuring of hope.

I walk along the footpath, holding a small hand. Its owner has pockets filled with rocks, leaves, feathers and dirt. When we get home these objects will be grouped, wrapped, hidden in drawers, stacked awkwardly next to bobby pins, buttons and broken things, and generally acquire any unclaimed real estate in our small urban apartment. Some of them will inadvertently go through the washing machine.
Clink. Clink. Clink.

For as long as I can remember these small hands have been collectors. When I cast them, I find the resemblance to my own hands with their long, slender, collecting fingers is uncanny (and perhaps a little unearthly).

The events of the past year have elevated the quiet power of these objects and things of nature to the point where a “tree change” became a necessity. We are adjusting to a new world order, and I recall Sally Lewry’s poem “Able In The Presence Of Rocks” (2018)

[…] there, you can lay as long as you like
as long as it takes
to grow, to root
to feel stable, vertical once more
able, in the presence of rocks

Beware / Be aware… In the Old Testament, signs, wonders and other omens go unheeded with dire consequences. A stubborn Pharaoh pays a high price for ignoring a series of threatening signs and wonders engineered by Yahweh. Belshazzar can’t understand the ominous writing that appears mysteriously on the wall during a lavish feast, and by the time he’s found a translator it’s too late.

Consequences of biblical proportions continue to plague us as we fail to heed - or even notice - the signs. Questions of translation, misinterpretation and failed communication underpin this series of printed works.

I am a passionate bushwalker and collector of rocks, plant matter and items left behind by civilisation such as rusty bits of steel. To me every day is filled with miracles and wonders. I see and experience the natural world filled with wonders and miracles.

The visual uniqueness of the treasures in my collection is imbued with wonder and I see value in common materials often overlooked or disregarded. Slicing and cutting into rocks is a discovery of what has been hidden for eons.

Patterns and structures of plant matter like the bulb of the invasive Watsonia found everywhere in the Adelaide Hills are wonderous to me. The sequence of the patterns in which they grow intrigues me to exploration of their shapes and forms.