My Mother’s Tablecloth is a tribute to my mother, born in 1943, for whom setting the table was and still is an art form in itself. Every gathering is carefully composed: napkins folded just so, plates aligned, tablecloths chosen with intention, and serving ware brought out as a complete ensemble, the matching cake server, crystal milk jug, cups and saucers all part of a quiet, loving ritual. These are not gestures of excess, but of care.

This devotion to the table has been inherited, somewhat like an affliction, and now finds expression in my own life, most noticeably at Christmas, where settings are arranged with equal attention, resplendent in yellow and green. It is a practice rooted in memory, repetition, and love.

In a time when meals are often hurried and families gather less frequently around the table, this painting reflects a tradition that feels increasingly fragile. It recalls moments when a cup of tea in fine china and a slice of cream sponge cake were savoured, not rushed, moments shared with family and friends, where presence mattered as much as the food itself. And for those who are collectors of Bendigo pottery, the brown jug depicted in my work may be familiar.

My painting honours my mother, those slower rituals, and the quiet beauty of a table set with love, time and care.

This painting celebrates the enduring appeal of Amber glassware—objects that glow with warmth, optimism, and nostalgia. The decanters depicted are examples of Depression glass, produced between the late 1920s and 1940s. These were humble, everyday items, made to bring beauty into homes during uncertain and challenging times.

My husband and I spend time and energy sourcing yellow and green Art Deco glassware, vases, and crystal glasses at the Bendigo Showgrounds market. There is a particular excitement in buying objects that are not new because every old object carries its own history.

These pieces recur throughout my paintings and have become an ongoing source of inspiration. Their luminous colour, elegant forms, and sense of endurance speak to me of domestic rituals, resilience, and the beauty found in ordinary objects that have been cherished across generations.

Autumn Pears is one of my favourite paintings in my solo show at Omari. Red is by far my favourite colour, and as soon as I spotted these pears in the supermarket, I knew I had to paint them.

Pears have a beautifully organic form – bumpy, uneven, and never symmetrical, with each one carrying its own individual shape and character. Time played an important role in this painting. As the pears began to decay before my very eyes, I was forced to work quickly, completing the piece over just a couple of days. That urgency helped keep the painting immediate and painterly, allowing instinct to guide the process rather than overworking the details.

There is truth in the saying that the devil is in the detail. Learning when to stop, and when to leave space for mystery for the viewer, has been an ongoing challenge for me. Autumn Pears reflects that balance between observation and restraint, control and letting go.

Banksias in Reflection began with a gift of banksias from my mum’s partner, who lives in Drouin in Gippsland, a place known for its abundant rainfall and green landscapes, especially compared to central Victoria where it is hot and dry and has less rainfall. The flowers carried a sense of that landscape with them, arriving full and heavy with character.

This painting presented a particular challenge. Placing a mirror beneath the still life created a reflected image that demanded careful alignment and symmetry, making the process feel as though I was working on two paintings at once. The reflection became an important part of the work, and I was drawn to its loose, painterly quality. Banksias are one of my favourite flowers to paint; they are not soft or forgiving, but rough and structural, offering strength and form that rewards close observation.