ARTIST PROFILE

My house smells of mineral turpentine, the walls host half finished work and my dining table is accidentally painted… I could crack open the window at least. 

I spent much of my childhood visiting my grandparents at ‘The Farm’ in Howard, QLD. There, my Grandmother, Phillis, introduced me to the wonders of oil paint. The rich, oily paste that can be moved and manipulated, smudged and smeared, applied thick or thin according to the artists’ whims. I was truly captivated. My first oil painting was a kingfisher bird, and when I signed it, much to my dismay, it read: ‘Tphlip’. I’ve since mastered the skill of writing my own name. Nevertheless, my Grandmother was proud of it. As an artist herself and a willing teacher, she guided me and patiently endured my endless questions and constant demands for “more paint!” I would get so upset when the paint wouldn’t obey me, but my grandmother would speak reason, and show me what I could do instead. I admired her ability to paint literally anything. 

Busy about the farmhouse one morning, I heard my frustrated Grandma loudly declare “I just want to paint!” And I felt that, deeply. Her desire to create was so genuine, and it mirrored my own inclination to throw down some paint and see what happens. It's unsurprising that humans seek to create, as the desire to manufacture beauty is as natural as the desire to breathe. In that way I emulate not only my Grandmother, but my creator.