This is the section where I am supposed to write about myself in third person — an interesting concept that has been copied by artists without too much question. I love to create, and creating this body of work has been no different; taking time to photograph my own works, source my own materials, build my own website — To make from scratch, a blank canvas, why shouldn't I do it on my own terms?

My brother and I grew up drawing. It was never a decision — it was just what we did, a conscious era before video games and TV, our household had creative outlets wherever we looked; once we had enough of riding our bikes or kicking the footy, the art table was where we turned. I drew, he sculpted in beeswax, and we were happy doing it. That instinct never left me, and I don't think it ever leaves anyone who has it.

I finished top of my year in visual arts at TSS on the Gold Coast in 2018, with works selected for exhibition at HOTA. From there I went into dental prosthetics — sculpting and replicating at a level of precision that demanded everything I had. I finished my first year in the top percentile of the university. By any measure, it was going well. But I was doing it for the wrong reasons, and somewhere inside I already knew that.

When I lost my brother, everything became very clear, very quickly. Life is short — genuinely, not as a phrase people say. I left the degree, and I haven't looked back. He gave me that. The realisation that following your instinct is not a risk — staying somewhere that isn't right for you is.

In 2024 I spent a year in Europe, four months of it living in Rome. It was a lonely time in the best possible way. I observed a lot, walked a lot, sat with my grief, and watched how people chose to spend their time. I found that the happiest people weren't the ones with the most — they were the ones paying attention to what was already in front of them. A coffee taken slowly. Bread broken with good company. A gratitude for simple moments. That observation became this body of work.

Charcoal found me rather than the other way around. I ran out of lead pencil in Rome — literally — and what was left in my pencil case was a charcoal pencil and a couple of stumps. I bought a large sheet of paper and let it happen. The medium used to intimidate me; it's difficult to control, slow to build depth, and completely unforgiving. I've come to love it for exactly those reasons. There is also something I find quietly meaningful about creating with charcoal; the burnt remains of what used to be alive. It feels honest to where I am and what I carry.

Every work I make is signed O.M. — my brother's initials. He comes with me on my journey and I wouldn’t be here without him. I am currently expanding into new disciplines, working in Byron Bay, and doing things slowly and on my own terms. I am in no rush. The work will take as long as it takes, and I would rather spend a lifetime making things I believe in than spend a season making things quickly.