At the rear of my grandmother’s property in Bellata, the citrus trees stood as quiet witnesses to childhood memories. As we mowed the lawns on her ride-on lawn mower, we’d duck to avoid the heavy fruits hanging from the branches. We’d scour the trees, carefully picking the ripest, juiciest oranges to bring back to her old kitchen. There, at the worn laminated benches, we’d fill her vintage steel cups with ice and freshly squeezed juice, savouring the simple joy of a perfect, refreshing drink after a day in the hot sun.

121 × 121 cm

Oil on canvas

Framed in Tasmanian Oak

In the back paddock, the scrubs of trees seemed made for adventure. We'd wander through the tall gums, stepping over fallen branches, some hollowed out, others still strong, all resting on the patchy earth. The ground beneath our feet was a mix of gravel, burrs, rocks, and wild shrubs. In that place, time stood still. Nature had a way of keeping us lost in the moment. Eventually, we’d find our way back to the house, our steps a little slower, maybe tired or hungry. And there, waiting for us, were grandma’s Arnott’s assorted cream biscuits—simple, sweet, and just what we needed to end our little adventure.

139 × 108 cm

Oil on canvas

Framed in Tasmanian Oak

I loved the simplicity of childhood—playing marbles, riding bikes, and having potato sack races. Though the sacks were narrow and the rough hessian scratched against my legs, the thrill of the race made it all worth it. My feet would get tangled, but the excitement of hopping awkwardly with everyone else only added to the fun. There was something exhilarating about laughing together, each of us wobbling through the same wild, chaotic race, united by the joy and energy of it all.

56 × 47 cm

Oil on canvas

Framed in Tasmanian Oak

Dad always had a story to tell, and chances were, I’d heard it five times before. Mostly I’d pretend I hadn’t, just to see the joy he’d get from sharing it again. The best stories were the ones that would send him into a fit of laughter, his smile so wide I could see all his back teeth. For me, it wasn’t the story that was funny, but the way he still found it so hilarious, even after telling it countless times.

104 × 103 cm

Acrylic on canvas

Framed in Tasmanian Oak

I remember those long drives to my grandma's place, six hours felt like an eternity in the back of my mum and dad’s car. I’d make up songs along the way, asking with each one, "Did you like that one?" I’d know we were nearly there when we’d stop at the service station in the nearby town. We'd stock up on lollies for the last stretch, debating who would open and close the gates to the paddocks once we reached her place. Finally, we’d arrive climbing out of the car, full of excitement and completely forgetting about the giant bull ant nest in the middle of the driveway! Those bites were unforgettable.

91 × 61 cm

Oil on canvas

Framed in Tasmanian Oak

I never liked wearing shoes when I was growing up. Maybe it was the feeling of the earth between my toes or just the urge to keep playing rather than stopping to cover my feet. Every time we’d walk out the screechy old fly screen door at grandma’s, mum would call, “Careful of the burrs!” Sure enough, I’d find myself at the Hills Hoist, lifting my foot to pull off a collection of bindis. Some things are learned the hard way, even when you’ve been told a hundred times.

88 × 54 cm

Oil on canvas

Framed in Tasmanian Oak

The property was called ‘Horseshoe,’ and it wasn’t surprising to find horses shoes scattered around the place. My brother and I would wander down to the dam, losing ourselves for hours in the search for rocks with unique patterns or a glimmer of sparkle. Each time we found one, we’d gasp in excitement, gently cradling our discoveries to show Mum. When we returned to Sydney, we’d carefully arrange the rocks in glass jars, keeping them close so we could admire them long after our visit.

56 × 47 cm

Oil on canvas

Framed in Tasmanian Oak

I was always petrified of snakes in the shed. It was full of tools, machinery, and countless hiding spots for them. The air was thick with dust and everything was covered in dirt. Amid the rusting bits and pieces, there were treasures that I thought made beautiful trinkets—old copper with worn textures, a weathered door stop, or a tin that had eroded in just the right way. There was an unwritten rule that you didn’t go to the shed unless dad was with you, but sometimes we would sneak in and explore, heart racing, excited to find the next little gem.

56 × 47 cm

Oil on canvas

Framed in Tasmanian Oak

Growing up, we spent a lot of time in nurseries, picking out flowers for our garden, which became a vibrant backdrop for photos on special occasions. The garden beds, handmade from sandstone, were a labour of love, each flower planted by one of us. On weekends, dad would fill vases with blooms from the garden, and every morning, he'd make me a fruit salad with a freshly picked pansy placed on top.

45 × 35 cm

Oil on canvas

Framed in Tasmanian Oak

The verandah was always a place of comfort at grandma’s. Thongs were piled by the door; maidenhair ferns lined the windows and there was a second freezer at the end. It was always stocked with chocolate-coated Bulla ice creams. We’d sneak past mum as she sat reading her book with a cup of tea and take more than our fair share of the classic creamy sticks.

45 × 35 cm

Oil on canvas

Framed in Tasmanian Oak

This palette is the result of the painting, ‘Careful of the Burrs’. Each mark unplanned and unhurried, revealing a fragment of a story, contributing to a broader narrative that spans generations of memory and experience. Capturing the very essence of the land and person I was painting.

41.5 × 35 cm

Oil on paper

Framed in Tasmanian Oak

This palette is the result of the painting, ‘At the Shed’. Each mark unplanned and unhurried, revealing a fragment of a story, contributing to a broader narrative that spans generations of memory and experience. Capturing the very essence of the land and person I was painting.

41.5 × 35 cm

Oil on paper

Framed in Tasmanian Oak

This palette is the result of the painting, ‘Sack Race’. Each mark unplanned and unhurried, revealing a fragment of a story, contributing to a broader narrative that spans generations of memory and experience. Capturing the very essence of the land and people I was painting.

41.5 × 35 cm

Oil on paper

Framed in Tasmanian Oak

This palette is the result of the painting, ‘Under the Orange Tree’. Each mark unplanned and unhurried, revealing a fragment of a story, contributing to a broader narrative that spans generations of memory and experience. Capturing the very essence of the land and people I was painting.

41.5 × 35 cm

Oil on paper

Framed in Tasmanian Oak

This palette is the result of the painting, ‘Last Stop’. Each mark unplanned and unhurried, revealing a fragment of a story, contributing to a broader narrative that spans generations of memory and experience. Capturing the very essence of the land and people I was painting.

41.5 × 35 cm

Oil on paper

Framed in Tasmanian Oak

This palette is the result of the painting, ‘Last Stop’. Each mark unplanned and unhurried, revealing a fragment of a story, contributing to a broader narrative that spans generations of memory and experience. Capturing the very essence of the land and people I was painting.

41.5 × 35 cm

Oil on paper

Framed in Tasmanian Oak