I don’t have a studio in the conventional sense. It is wherever the work happens to be that day or week -whatever is convenient, whatever suits. Sometimes it’s the vintage caravan, sometimes the loungeroom, the entry foyer, the verandah, or the front yard.
I can’t complain about a lack of space to make art. I’m fortunate to live on the banks of a river with my family, surrounded by nature. Occasionally a goanna runs past when I’m working outside, a python slithers along the rafters of the verandah, a platypus floats in the water below, or a catbird pierces the air with its eerie call.
It makes me wonder what a studio really is. Is it simply four walls, or is it a space that reflects the shifting corners of one’s mind and then finds its way into the work? For me, the spaces I adapt to inevitably shape the process.
