The Story of “Red Dust and Eucalyptus”

One of the most important aspects of my work is noticing, savoring, and capturing the sensory experience of a landscape or seascape. Perhaps this stems from the loss of some of my vision and hearing, which has made me treasure sensory experiences more than ever. Learning to live well with loss, grief, and trauma has shown me that slowing down to notice sensory details—especially in nature—doesn’t only inspire me creatively. It’s also grounding, calming, and sometimes even deeply healing.

Exploring the landscape

When creating a landscape painting, I usually like to immerse myself in the environment—walking, cycling, running, or swimming. Moving through the landscape allows me to explore more of it while also getting out of my head and feeling more connected to both my body and the sensory experience of the place. Since I couldn’t visit this landscape in person, I sought other ways to engage with it on a sensory level. I studied the photos the collectors sent, searched online for more, and used Google Earth to explore a “bird’s eye view”. I also looked for poetry, music, and descriptions of the area’s smells, sounds, and tastes.

What stood out to me most were the colours, shapes, and textures—especially the peeling, multi-coloured eucalyptus bark, the cracked red earth, and the striking aerial views of Dubbo I discovered on Google Earth.

Following my joy

I began with colour explorations to develop my palette. If you’ve ever chosen paint for a room, you’ll know how different a colour can look on a large surface compared to a small swatch. To test my mixes on a bigger scale, I repurposed the brown paper packaging that I recycle from my art supplies and canvases, painting large sections to see how the colours translated. The results were unexpectedly beautiful—the brown paper showed through in places, adding depth, and some sheets had layers of paint from previous projects, creating rich textures and colour variations. I also loved how thinner coats of paint dried to a chalky, weathered finish, echoing the dry textures I’d been exploring in my research.

I also played with some black ink to feel around for shapes, lines, and compositional ideas.

Red Dust and Eucalyptus

I had planned to move on to painting directly on the canvas with my pre-mixed colours, but the creative muse took over in an unexpected way. As I tore up the painted papers and arranged them on the canvas—initially just to explore blocks of colour and composition—I found myself completely absorbed. Before I knew it, I was sticking them down, transforming the piece into a full collage. I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised—after all, I used to create collages from magazine papers!

A vast landscape

I think I’ve captured something of the ‘vastness’ that one of the Collectors mentioned she loves by drawing inspiration from the perspective, and patchwork of shapes and straight lines found in aerial views of Dubbo.

The colours and textures of Dubbo

The colours, textures, and areas where the brown paper peeks through remind me of the soft pastel tones, organic stripes, and unique patterns of eucalyptus bark. In some places, I intentionally peeled back or punctured the paper to mimic the way eucalyptus bark sheds. The collage’s mix of straight edges and torn, ragged lines reflects the landscape’s contrasts—structured yet raw, much like the cracked dry earth – and the alternately hard and soft borders found in the aerial photos. The most textured and patterned sections remind me of the scratchy, resilient scrub that defines the region’s terrain.