Making a Collection

This month I want to talk about what goes into making a collection of work.

A collection is a body of work with a theme or idea linking the individual pieces. Making a consistent body of work takes time, and a willingness to keep going. Resilience is most definitely required.

When you are working on a major body of work, you need to be relentless. There are periods of doubt, moments when things aren't working, and then suddenly there are shifts. Something clicks. The work starts to make sense.

I have been working on my new collection since January.

I booked the exhibition in September 2025, so I had a long lead time. I have used deadlines in my practice since I first left art college. A deadline focuses me. I am working towards something.

Sometimes, when your work is self-directed, you need to create your own deadlines. You can simply say, "I will make this many pieces by this date." It gives the work a sense of purpose and keeps me moving forward.

Despite having such a long lead time, I have stuck remarkably closely to my original statement for this collection. I rarely work this way, but having that initial idea has driven the body of work.

Getting to know a new place

I wanted to explore the liminal space that occurs when you move house.

I had lived in Cedar Creek for 15 years, which was the longest I had lived anywhere since leaving home. Before we settled there, we had moved 17 times as a couple. This time, we were determined to stay.

The environment around our home became the visual driving force behind my practice, particularly once I started drawing it regularly.

Moving to a new environment was anxiety-inducing. To be honest, some of that anxiety came from an idea I had constructed in my head: that the suburbs wouldn't be visually stimulating.

We had lived in an exceptionally beautiful area, and it had been a huge muse for my practice. I wondered what I would find here.

So I decided I needed to get to know my new home.

The new house didn't have a garden. It was essentially a house on a patch of grass. Growing a garden from scratch became my first priority because my garden at Cedar Creek had been such an important source of inspiration.

But gardens take time.

In the meantime, our dogs needed walking. They had been acreage dogs and were now suburban dogs who needed regular exercise. Those walks have become part of my daily practice.

I walk the dogs. I look. I notice.

I started collecting flora from the local area.

This body of work is really a getting-to-know-you exercise. I walked, I looked, I collected, I drew and I painted.

Trees and plants I had never really looked at closely before became the focus of my observations.

I've learned about native and invasive species. I've discovered that some natives are gone before I can even get to them, while others might be short-lived but return a few months later.

The silver wattle had buds for so long that I started to think the buds were the flowers.

Then came the "ta-da" moment when I spotted their glorious bright yellow flowers.

That was a huge surprise.

And this is exactly what I love about looking closely. There is always something you haven't noticed yet.

Setting some rules

I also set practical parameters for myself.

Limitations.

I find limitations keep me on track. Without them, I get distracted. There are simply too many possibilities.

I decided I would only work on 30 x 30cm ply boards - 3mm ply.

My sketchbooks are 30 x 30cm, and my small panels are 30 x 30cm. I also like the idea of them being roughly a foot square, because I made my observations on foot.

A Dad joke perhaps, but I like it.

I painted two panels of the flora from life. One is a tabletop view and the other places the specimen in a vessel. They were painted in natural light, with the cast shadows becoming an integral part of the process.

I drew the flora in my sketchbook, initially as part of my 100-day project and then as a way of gathering observational information.

Those drawings became the source material for a set of three panels, as well as my teeny tiny series.

I worked across the three panels as though they were one piece, using abstraction and disruption techniques to shift, alter and play with the imagery.

Each specimen of flora has five panels inspired by it.

The teeny tiny pieces started life as a single 20 x 20cm panel, which was then cut into four 10 x 10cm pieces.

I made eight sets of five paintings.

By this stage, I was ready to change up my process.

The final two florals - the silver wattle in flower and the willow gum in flower - became the inspiration for 90 x 90cm panels. I then made another 90 x 90cm painting inspired by the tea tree, or melaleuca.

The final two will be lambs' tails and grevillea.

Submerging myself in the work

This is a large body of work.

By making it, I have completely submerged myself in new imagery. I have spent months looking at Australian botanicals, walking the same streets, noticing seasonal changes and paying attention to things I might previously have walked straight past.

The large paintings are a big step for me. They pick up where my flower farm paintings left off, but they also feel like something new.

The collection is nearing completion.

I'm not quite there yet.

And that is one of the things I find so satisfying about making a large body of work. You get to stay with an idea for long enough to see where it takes you.

The work grows and develops. One painting leads to another. Something you notice in a drawing might turn up months later in a painting. A plant you initially overlooked suddenly becomes fascinating.

The sense of discovery has kept me engaged and focused.

I've developed a new and rather exciting interest in Australian botanicals.

And I know a lot more about the suburb of Brighton.

Which, when I think about it, was the whole point.

I set out to get to know my new home.

And I think, through this collection, I have.

And then there is the calendar...

In an exciting development, 13 of the images from this collection are going into a 2027 calendar.

I've been busy designing it, and I have to say, it is going to be beautiful.

It feels like the perfect culmination of this project - taking a body of work that began with walking the dogs, collecting plants and learning to see a new place, and turning it into something that can travel much further.

From a patch of grass and a few suburban walks to a whole collection of paintings and a calendar.

Not bad.