I grew up in Alice Springs in a house where art was everywhere. Our kitchen was an extension of Mum's studio, eucalyptus on the boil, steamers on the gas, dye pots hot and going. A little messy, but we just learned to live around it.
I joined in on Mum’s travels to communities, facilitating art spaces for women to gather and paint silk. Hanging out with the ladies of Hermannsburg was always cheeky fun.
Mum taught me to look closer, to notice the intricacies of the natural world. Living in a vast arid zone was never boring. It was a feast for the eyes.
My photographic pursuits became serious in my early adult years. Image transfer blew my mind. When that chapter closed, Mum encouraged me to try eco-printing with eucalyptus leaves. Somewhere along the way I realised the anticipation of developing film in the darkroom is a lot like waiting for a bundle to come out of the steamer - I have an idea, but it’s always a surprise.
Unlike photography, I can’t control the image. It is nature’s reaction to the elements it’s in.
There's no doubt I lean on Mum's technical knowledge, thirty-plus years of eco-printing, the chemistry, the prep, plants, recipes.... She still lives in Alice, so we share across the distance.
Central Australia is vast, yet every square metre is incredibly complex — spinifex, soft casuarinas, sturdy eucalypts against red earth, skinny black lines, that big sky.
Arranging leaves into shapes that echo the land feels natural. It takes me back to winter mornings riding to school, crossing the dry bed of the Todd River, the air smelling of burning gum. Those leaves still smell incredible on the boil.
Eucalyptus stricklandii is a favourite. It gives a deep red with veiny black outlines, like a smoky river fire.
The colours shift and vary, and that unpredictability keeps feeding my curiosity.
