A Sense of Self

It is always disorienting time when I finish a large body of work. A sense of loss and melancholy often follows, as though a chapter has closed. This was certainly the case when I completed my Acres Collection last year. I had envisioned working on those floral pieces for years, especially with the abundance of resources from my residency—sketchbooks and photographs. But I should know better. I can easily shift from intense production to a screeching halt. Clarity arrives: the series is complete, and I go from consumed to jaded.

Fallow periods are essential for an artist. They offer a much-needed recharge for the creative spirit, and a reset gradually takes shape. Still, despite knowing a pause is part of the process, it can be frustrating. I mourn the end of a series, and then panic inevitably sets in as I wonder, what’s next?

We made the momentous decision to sell our home in January 2024. I began the slow task of decluttering, packing away the possessions I love living with. Those boxes found their way to the studio, and as our home became more pared back, less us—walls washed, paintwork scrubbed—I felt the emotional shift. Letting go was necessary for welcoming a new family to our piece of Cedar Creek. I felt unmoored which coincided with my residency coming to its natural close.

As I wrapped and boxed our belongings, memories surfaced—of people, places, spaces, and seasons they evoked. I couldn’t help but wonder: what would happen to these objects and the narratives they carry in the future? Each piece holds significance to me, but I began questioning why they’re so important and if I’m perhaps held captive by the weight of their guardianship. Many of these items belonged to people dear to me, yet they hold little meaning for my children. This reflection prompted me to ponder immortality—how memories can be revived through visual prompts, without the heaviness of maudlin sentimentality.

I teach still life to my drawing and painting students, always telling them it’s a perfect place to start—because it doesn’t move. The genre offers a wonderful way to learn the elements and principles of art. I’ve painted still-life periodically throughout my career, but now it felt like the right time to revisit it. Painting objects I love felt grounding. I realised they tell the story of me, my sense of self.

This new collection was the result and it explores possessions as repositories of cherished memories—people, places, spaces, and seasons.

Objects preserve a wealth of significant emotion and connection, serving as physical embodiments of identity. The narratives of these objects project a sense of self while sharing stories of lives lived in other places and times. They hold a physical representation of experience, speaking of familial ties and the story of who we were, who we are, and where we have been.

The featured flora comes from my garden, a space I have nurtured from a rocky cow paddock. Each plant is imbued with personal significance. I hail from a long line of passionate gardeners, and the plants in my garden are often chosen as tributes to friends and ancestors.

My all-time favourite paintings are views through windows by artists such as Bonnard and Matisse. I have used the open window motif in this series as a homage to these great artists. The windows serve as a tribute to the design of our home, reflecting a sense of possibility and the ongoing journey of my family as we move forward.

My eclectic collection of cherished possessions has been assembled over decades and continents. Each object is valued— a humble found item or a precious heirloom. Each is treasured for its unique narrative of seasons, places, and people, informing a deep sense of identity and continuity.

As a family of migrants, these treasures act as direct links to family and places, evidencing identity and serving as tangible connections to who we were, who we are, and where we have been. In a world that has shifted towards minimalism—where we’re encouraged to declutter and "Marie Kondo" our lives—possessing trunks full of “things” can feel guilt-inducing. The custody of a collection can sometimes feel overwhelming, with sentimental attachments creeping in and becoming burdensome.

These paintings serve a dual role: as still lifes of aesthetically pleasing objects, and as repositories of narrative, an archive.

I wonder what will happen when these objects are passed on to the next generation. The stories they tell may inevitably become more distant, more irrelevant—a step removed. The people, experiences, and places they manifest will fade. There is a fine line between sentimental nostalgia and reflection.

This series of paintings honors the objects, their stories, and the connections they represent. They act as archives of lives lived in other places, of travels, and of loved ones gone.

The Practical Details

Each of the paintings was initially painted from life. I set up still-life arrangements in my studio or home. The design, drawing and underpainting were completed from observation. The painting was then finished in the studio.

All the collection is painted on cradled ply panels in acrylic. Some of the pieces have some minor collage applied mainly in the form of washi tape.

The paintings are sealed with 3 coats of gloss medium and then waxed for a soft satin finish. The gloss medium enhances the quality of acrylic paint. My art is recognised for my use of complex, multiple layers, colour and texture which can be better appreciated by the application of medium. Acrylic dries flat and dull but this flaw is nullified with gloss medium.

The frames are hand-constructed Meranti float frames, hand-sanded and waxed with wire and d-rings attached.

All the work is titled and signed on the back and initialled on the front. Authenticity certificates are available on request.