Field Notes: February 26
Taking the studio into the living world
This evening, I am parked beside Narrabeen Beach. The tide moves in long, unhurried lines, sunlight scattering across the surface of the waves before drifting into Narrabeen Lakes. Inside, the kettle has just boiled, and I hold a warm cup of tea between my hands, quietly aware of a feeling that is part comfort, part joy, and part deep gratitude.
I sit in my new van with the side door open, watching as the sun sets gently across Narrabeen Lakes.
Whilst a tiny home, my van is expansive in what it makes possible. Soon it will become both a mobile studio and a small home on wheels; a place from which I can step more fully into the landscapes that have long shaped my work.
For many years now, my practice has begun with close observation of the ever-changing Clarence River. Through boating, walking, on-site regeneration, learning from the land and its people, and attuning to the trees and ecologies that support it. The drawings that eventually emerge in the studio are first formed through these encounters: river light shifting across the surface of water, the quiet resilience of a lone paddock tree, the intricate rhythms held within native grasses and floodplains.
Such places ask for patience.
They ask to be cared for and respected.
They ask for time and for presence.
This new way of travelling offers exactly that: the freedom to linger a little longer, to notice what might otherwise be missed, and to work in closer conversation with the living world around me.
Already, I sense this is less a departure and more a gentle continuation of my practice, a practice grounded in attentiveness and care.
Toward a More Immersive Practice
As upcoming projects draw me deeper into river systems and their surrounding ecologies, this small studio in motion will support extended periods of field research and on-site drawing. I imagine early mornings stepping out into mist along a riverbank, paper weighted against the breeze; afternoons spent walking and tracing lines through the landscape; evenings reflecting on the day’s quiet observations.
There is something profoundly aligning about narrowing the distance between daily life and creative process, giving art and living, time to sit more closely beside one another.
While the studio will always remain a place of reflection and resolution, the landscapes themselves are where the first marks are felt — sometimes as pen on paper, sometimes simply within the body, stored as memory until they find their way into form.
This van will carry me towards those understandings.
Towards rivers that continue to teach me about movement and time.
Towards old trees whose presence holds both endurance and witness.
Towards conversations with those who care deeply for the land.
Towards the subtle tracings of unfolding stories that ask to be made.
For now, I allow myself this small pause beside the sea so that I may acknowledge the beginning of something quietly significant.
A widening, a step towards.
I look forward to sharing the journeys ahead with you as field notes, drawings, and the works that will grow from time spent immersed in the environments that sustain and inspire my practice.
And so, with tea still warm and the ocean breathing steadily nearby, I turn toward the road with a calm and open readiness for what will unfold.
