A prose poem - a reflection between collecting and polishing rocks, and the work of spirituality.

I've been in transition - between seasons, if you will. What was pushing upward through the layers of my subconscious, asking to be born?

The matted palm fibres never cease to fascinate me; they're so tactile, so regular, almost as though they had been woven by hand.

It was a warm, sunny Saturday, and we decided on the spur of the moment to drive up to Los Alamos in the Central Coast wine country.

It’s early July and I’m back in Santa Barbara, my second home.

I found this segment of palm foliage. I thought it looked like loose ribbon weaving, and I wondered about the origins of the craft.

At its best, poetry is the music of the soul, singing the songlines of our life’s trajectory and articulating its yearnings

The rain is pattering down, soft, almost silent. My windows and door are open to the humid, early autumn air, filling the house with the...

The day dawned in typical early-Autumn fashion: rain showers interspersed with bursts of brilliant sunshine. I needed to leave early to...

Ocean life is at risk from pollution of all kinds. But one of the most insidious risks comes from ghost nets – fishing nets that have...

I've just completed another abstract painting and documented the stages in a short video. But in this post, I would like to discuss my...

Sometimes, we need to get away from the studio, take a drive, and see what other artists are doing! Today, a friend and I drove up to...

It's wonderful to be painting again after a long break. Writing the Children of Myth trilogy absorbed my life for a very long time, and...

Recently, I've been leafing through my old art journals, collating images. I'm doing this, not only so I don't have half-a-dozen...

I took myself off for a wander along Arrawarra Beach, adjacent to the Headland. My intention was to look for fossil coral (I didn't find...

Back in the studio - at last! It's been almost three weeks since I arrived home after 36 hours of travel, exhausted, jet lagged, my tired...

Artists have a lot in common, yet we all have idiosyncratic ways of working and subject preferences, depending on temperament, choice of...

We sat drinking tea on the sandstone terrace of a property just outside Berrima in the southern Highlands south of Sydney. It was one of...

This morning I wandered by the ocean, marveling at the beauty of stone and shell, seaweed and sand. I found a pebble which seemed to be...