In my practice as a visual artist, I strive to tell stories without a single word. It’s a quiet language of brushstrokes, color, shading, and composition. Every canvas becomes a conversation—one that invites the viewer to feel rather than read. For me, art isn’t just a visual; it’s emotional, and that emotional connection is the heartbeat of my work.
One of the most profound experiences I’ve had was painting a portrait for the Archibald Prize. It was my first entry, and my subject was someone I knew well—someone who entrusted me completely with capturing his essence. It was an intense process that involved many hours of in-person sittings, discussions, and moments of vulnerability. What resulted was more than a likeness—it was a reflection of adversity transformed into strength. When he finally saw the finished piece, his emotional reaction reminded me why I paint.
Each year, I return to the Archibald with the same commitment. Choosing a subject who moves me is paramount. I dive deep into their world, gathering their stories and interpreting them visually. This year, I painted Dr. Patricia Jenkins, a woman devoted to humanitarian causes and environmental preservation. Her passion shaped the artwork—symbols of climate change, ocean conservation, and global responsibility are all subtly embedded within it. Her face floats above Bondi’s shoreline, with stormy skies and a sun-drenched globe casting light and shadow across the piece. Her determined expression says more than a thousand words ever could.
The pressure of the Archibald is intense. There’s a clock that ticks louder as the deadline nears. I’ve woken before dawn to find uninterrupted moments for painting. Despite juggling life’s other demands, that period of creation becomes sacred. It’s when the real work happens, where ideas are transformed into form and feeling. It’s not just technical—it’s personal.
Over time, this work has opened doors: commissions, gallery placements, and a broader recognition of my art. But the greatest validation still comes from someone standing in front of a portrait and saying, “I see something of myself here.” That’s the magic. That’s the aim.
My artistic foundation lies in pencil. Every piece begins with a sketch, a quiet study of line and space. Sometimes I leave them as they are, appreciating the raw depth graphite offers. In portraits, it’s especially powerful—through lines and shading, emotions emerge, often more intimately than with color.
Looking ahead, I’ll keep entering the Archibald Prize. I dream of winning it one day, but more than that, I aim to keep telling stories worth hearing—on canvas, through silence, and always with heart. This is not just a career; it’s the work I’ll do for life.