The studio is still except for the soft sound of graphite moving across paper.
Afternoon light filters through the window, catching the edge of my pencil and the texture of the paper.
Beyond the glass, the paddocks stretch out, dry, open and familiar. Inside my studio time slows.
This drawing is a commission that carries four generations of memory. Men of the same family, standing together on the land that’s shaped them.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the way light holds stories and how it falls gently across faces and hands, softening what time has made weathered.
There’s something sacred about translating those stories. Not just likeness, but the quiet dignity of work, endurance, and belonging.
Each mark feels like a conversation, guided by my own memories of family, farms and strong resilience.
It’s a slow process, but I’ve come to love that rhythm. The long hours where the light shifts and the drawing gradually takes on a life of its own.
By afternoon, the sunlight moves across the paper, warming the studio, and I’m reminded of why I return to this every day.
Not just to make an image, but to find stillness and to see what endures through the light.
“There’s something sacred about translating these stories. Not just likeness, but the quiet dignity of work, endurance, and belonging.”