I came to painting later in life, but it felt more like a remembering than a beginning. From the moment I picked up a brush in my early 40s, I knew I had found the language I’d been searching for—one that could speak not only to what I saw, but to what I felt. My practice is grounded in technical rigour, but it is driven by something far more intimate: a desire to illuminate the emotional and psychological layers of experience, and to give beauty to things that are often hidden, fragile, or overlooked.

I work primarily in oil, drawing inspiration from the Flemish masters whose delicate layering techniques and reverence for detail continue to influence the way I build light, texture, and depth. But while my technique nods to the Old World, my palette is unmistakably shaped by my surroundings. The strong Australian sunlight—particularly where I live—has trained my eye to see colour with heightened intensity. That clarity and boldness infuse my work and bring energy to even the quietest compositions.

There’s a wonderful tension between light and dark—one doesn’t exist without the other, and each is more powerful because of the other. I find myself drawn to that contrast, both visually and emotionally. The play of strong light and deep shadow has become a kind of language in my paintings, echoing the internal dualities I carry. My art is a way of making sense of those tensions and transforming them into something beautiful.

Many of the themes that run through my work—grief, longing, transformation, joy—stem from personal experience. At 17, I gave birth to a daughter under difficult and hidden circumstances and placed her for adoption. The grief and complexity of that experience changed me profoundly. Decades later, I consider my life deeply rich and full. I’m married to a loving, supportive man, am the proud mother of two more (now adult) children and reunited with my daughter and her family, including two grandchildren.

Painting is the way I metabolise my life experiences. It’s how I examine what it means to be human—to feel deeply, to lose, to reconnect, to love again. In many ways, each work is a meditation. I am a quiet, methodical, passionate creative, always trying to translate the intangible into something visible and honest. Whether I’m painting the softness of skin, the theatrical collapse of a watermelon, or the quiet pull of a portrait, I aim to capture the moment where emotion and form collide.

Ultimately, I paint to connect—to myself, to others, and to the beauty tucked into everyday life. If someone walks away from one of my paintings feeling a flicker of recognition or stillness, then something meaningful has passed between us. I’ve cracked something open. I’ve let the light in.