In Conversation

Has there been a person or experience that has shaped how you approach your work?
I grew up in a rural counterculture community in Wytaliba, NSW, where nature shaped the way we lived on a daily basis, we had no running water or electricity, and swam in the river every day. People from that community describe my photographs as looking as though they had been taken at this commune, so these early childhood experiences must have shaped the work that I create today.

I am guided by nature in my work, and my father and two grandmothers were avid environmentalists and activists, spending their lives advocating for the protection of our Country. Watching and learning from them from a young age instilled in me a deep love and respect for the beautiful land we live on.

Do you have any rituals that you engage in that incite creative momentum, or that inform the way you work?
Once or twice a year, I plan a specific time during the warmer months to embark on a one-week working trip. I research locations, plan a route, book the accommodation, and throw bags of props and fabrics into the car and go in search of beautiful landscapes. There is often a broad vision for the work, but I am largely improvising and working with the small windows of the right light which take place at dawn and dusk. The landscape itself is my biggest wonder and inspiration, and it immediately informs me of which time of day and specific scenes might give me the best lighting and composition. Challenges during the photographic process, like weather, tourists, the temperature of the water, etc. are all out of my control, but I have to just make it work.

Much of your imagery features visual themes that are grounded in place, and you represent natural environments with a haunting, dreamlike beauty—often where figures and bodies appear to meld with their surroundings. How would you describe your relationship to place and its significance to your work?
My relationship to place often feels too fleeting, and at times, heartbreaking. I have lived in the city for the longest time, and am constantly yearning to be closer to nature. It almost feels painful to want to be close to her, especially when I take time to visit, I never want to go home. This makes creating this work in nature ever more special for me.

Whilst I don’t have the time to just sit and meditate on these trips, I am creating something in these places, and become very immersed. It’s like a collaboration with nature and my camera, and this makes it sacred for me. It is a very special time spent in nature, looking at her up close through my lens, and capturing her in all her wonder and beauty—a way of taking a part of her home with me. Before leaving, I thank the landscape for her beauty in a quiet moment of appreciation and awe, which is for me, a form of my own meditation. 

In today’s society, there is a fundamental disconnection from nature. My photographs place human beings ‘submerged in nature’, rather than separate from it, which is the way I wish I was still living. 

How do you navigate creative integrity when producing commercial assignments and working to briefs?
I always aim to approach my commercial work with the same passion and drive for ideas that I do in my personal work, I don’t think I would be able to photograph assignments if I couldn’t apply my creativity in some way or other, it would feel too robotic and soulless for me. I try, whenever possible, to influence the imagery with my own aesthetic in some shape or form, whether it be the way I use lighting or try to evoke a certain moodiness or strangeness. I am constantly looking to push my own boundaries and break out of my comfort zone by experimenting with new and unfamiliar styles, as I can get bored quite easily and need new inspiration on a constant basis. I find that this approach has its pros and cons – on one hand, you are learning and trying new styles out to see what fits, on the other hand, you are going ‘off brand’ and it can lead to some confusion as to who you are as an artist. It’s a balancing act really.

Looking to the future, what direction do you see your practice leading?
It’s difficult to comment on the future in this very dire situation we find ourselves in. In Australia especially, the arts have been completely left behind. My next solo exhibition has been postponed until next year, and my overseas residencies in France and Italy have both been postponed, and may never happen at all. I am also very lucky in that I can still make art between lockdowns, exhibit online and sell my work, so many artists have not been able to practice at all over the past 18 months. 

I do intend to keep pursuing and going deeper into my passion, which is exploring our connection to nature,  and the experience of being in a woman’s skin.

What makes you hopeful?
It is harder than ever before to have hope in humanity with all that is happening to our planet. I feel a deep deep pain in my heart every day when I see how governments are driving every living thing into extinction, but I feel fleeting moments of hope and love when I see caring and kind people around me—as simple as a smile from a friendly neighbour, or seeing those who spend their Sundays picking out weeds down at our local creek.

Whilst I feel a deep shame and sadness over what white Australia has done, and continues to do to the traditional owners of this land, I do feel hopeful when I think about the Indigenous people of this country and how their knowledge of, and respect for the land could lead this country is a new direction. I feel more than ever we can see the limits of the people ‘leading’ the country, and we yearn for a different path, one that embraces traditional Aboriginal knowledge, and one where women are leading.

I feel hopeful knowing there are those who dedicate their lives to making a difference, knowing they are up against giant forces—governments and corporations that are willing to destroy the planet in the name of profit—but continuing to get up every day and keep working. For me, it’s really important to remember people like my beloved grandmothers who were fighting anyway, despite the challenges, especially now as we face an uncertain future.