Stories Already Told

An exploration of connection, resolution, and the quiet beauty of belonging. This piece captures those rare, overwhelming moments when everything just clicks - when the noise settles and harmony emerges.

Inspired by the idea of a rhapsody - a sweeping, emotional celebration - it’s about finding cohesion after chaos. A journey through complexity to a place that feels whole.

It’s a reminder of the joy of rediscovery, and the quiet strength of connection - with others, and with yourself.

Riding an invisible current - high, weightless, and free. This piece holds the feeling of rising above it all, where the land stretches endlessly below in all its richness. From this view, you don’t miss the detail - you marvel at it.

It’s about perspective.
About the quiet awe of seeing the vastness of this country, and the beauty in its diversity - cultures, stories, textures, and histories woven together.

There’s peace in that place.
Acceptance. Reverence.
And a reminder that we’re part of something much bigger than ourselves.

A painting born in the silence that follows being cut loose - not with sadness, but with fire.

It holds the weight of that moment when the game ends, the mask slips and you finally see things for what they are.

This piece isn’t about revenge. It’s about reclamation.

About walking away from the bullshit with your head high and your hands steady - ready to create, not destroy.

The title asks the question… but the answer is already clear: Forward. Always forward.

Like silken threads carried by the wind, finding each other mid-air - this piece is about connection. Not the loud, look-at-us kind. The quiet, unshakable kind.

It’s about facing the bumps, the shit, the big stuff - side by side. When things get tough, we don’t scatter. We hold on. We climb, together.

From the outside, you might just see calm. Neat rows. White space. But underneath? Chaos.

This piece holds the duality of keeping it together when everything inside is fraying. Of finding structure when your mind is a mess. It’s the mask you wear, and the storm you carry.

Still standing. Still breathing. Still here.

The ones who bring the unexpected.
We laugh, we cry, we learn.
They show up with colour, mischief and depth - whether I’m ready or not.

Beneath the softness, there’s a riot of teal and yellow, hidden like inside jokes and old stories.

Never boring. Always welcome.

Be still, my heart, while we wait to see what happens next. But let’s not wait too long - they’ve waited over 250 years.

This piece holds tension. A deliberate pause. The kind that sits in your chest when you know change is coming.

It asks us to feel the weight of what’s overdue and choose the next step with courage.

The softness of an embrace.
The quiet strength of being seen and loved-fully.

This piece holds a sense of calm that settles deep. Subtle, steady, and unwavering.

It’s about the kind of love that doesn’t need to shout to be felt.

I live, love, and create on ancient land - deep with story, sorrow, and strength. A land I’ve only just begun to understand.

My steps are late but intentional.
I walk with respect beside a culture I was never taught, listening for what has always been there.

There is much to learn.
Be curious. Be gracious. Be humble.
Be committed.

This piece doesn't whisper - it walks in, commands the room and unapologetically takes up space.

The layers of deep crimson and magenta pulse with energy, rising into softer tones like a breath between sentences.

It’s fierce, it’s feminine, and it owns its intensity. For anyone who's ever been told they’re too much - this one’s for you.

A flick of the wrist. A breath of confidence.

This piece moves like a secret dance - fluid, intentional, and full of grace.

Each mark carries momentum, as though something once hidden has been revealed mid-spin.

It’s not loud, but it lingers.
A moment of flair… just because you can.

We all tell our story. Live it, reflect on it, and then make a promise that tomorrow will be different.

Life is messy. Sometimes, it feels like things are all falling into line. Then, it turns into a cluster of epic proportions.

Sometimes, yesterday creeps up on you. Bringing doubts, questions... or perhaps discomfort. And then what? You make that decision, that promise.

Start looking forward, turning your head to the future again.
Change your course.
From now on...

Every future is built from the steps we take today. Are you moving with intention - or just drifting?

This piece captures the push and pull of progress.

The earthy pink ochre and soft cream layers reflect the process: strides forward, missteps, lessons gathered. The central fingerprint column marks each step I’ve taken - sometimes forwards, sometimes not - but always moving, learning, becoming.

It’s a quiet reminder that growth isn’t linear. But step by step, we shape what’s to come.

The shortest day - yet the turning point. A soft inhale after the long exhale of winter.

This painting captures that quiet shift, when the frost begins to loosen its grip, and light slowly stretches back across the sky.

Cool greys, faded sage green and whites fade gently upward, while hints of soft blush and green whisper of what’s to come - new growth beneath the surface, waiting.

This is the pause before the bloom.
A reminder that even in stillness, change is already unfolding.

"...A blood red feather leaves a scar upon my hand. No longer stranded like a painted bird on a fan. So, hover in the diving light, we will rip the night..."

Inspired by the haunting beauty of Chris Cornell’s lyrics, this piece captures that moment of rupture - the bold break from silence, from stillness, from expectation.

The line of white dots stretches like a pulse across a sky of muted blue. And there - just off-centre - a single red mark: deliberate, defiant, unforgettable.

Like a scar. Like a signal.

This is the moment you stop hovering and dive.

Some things don’t leave.
You can do all the work, say all the right things, move forward with every bit of strength you have - and still feel it.

The residue. The trace. The shadow that quietly hums beneath the surface.

Not every day is light.
Not every smile means ease.
We carry so much behind our eyes.
But maybe that shadow isn’t a weakness.
Maybe it’s just proof that we’ve lived.

Not everything follows a plan.
Some things build slowly, then explode sideways.

Some things only make sense once you stop trying to control them.

There’s beauty in the unexpected.
In the chaos that rearranges you.
In the moment things shift, and nothing looks how you imagined -
but somehow, it’s right.

A quieting of the noise. A hush.
Not silence, but stillness.

This piece holds the energy of retreat - of turning inward without withdrawal. A gentle exhale after the storm. There’s strength in the pause, in choosing stillness over reaction.

Let the layers draw you closer. What seems delicate at first is laced with resolve.

We don’t miss touch until it’s gone.

In the days after heartbreak, it’s not the words we ache for - it’s the ordinary gestures: a hand on the arm, the brush of skin, the weight of another nearby.

Every mark is an echo of contact - a remembered press, a wish, a pattern.

But within the rhythm, there are absences. Gaps.
Once you see them, you can’t unsee them.

This is what it means to miss something you didn’t know you needed.
To reach for the thing that used to come without asking.

Sometimes life doesn’t hand you the perfect tools, the clean slate, the ideal conditions. You just work with what’s in front of you.

It’s about scraping together what you can, bending with what breaks, and finding strength in the makeshift.

There’s resilience in that.

A quiet kind of defiance.

A reminder that beauty can still come through, even when the edges are rough.