There is a particular moment I look forward to every year.
The first golden wattles begin to appear.
Suddenly, little bursts of yellow are scattered through the landscape — along roadsides, in bushland, in parks and gardens, and outside my studio window.
It feels as though the Australian landscape has switched on its own little lights.
And I love the way wattle announces spring.
It doesn’t make a fuss. It simply blooms.
And if you’re paying attention, you notice.
A little sunshine outside my window
This particular wattle was photographed by my husband on the weekend just before spring arrived.
It grows on the other side of the park from my studio, and I’ve watched it change over the years. But every spring, when those first golden flowers appear, I find myself looking at it all over again.
Perhaps that’s one of the reasons I’ve spent so many years painting Australian flora.
There is always something waiting to be noticed.
You can walk past the same tree a hundred times and then, one morning, the light catches it differently, or a flower opens and a new colour just appears.
Something you had completely overlooked suddenly shines brightly enough for you to see it. I love that moment.
The little surprise of discovering something beautiful that was there all along.
The changing Australian landscape
Here in the west, the arrival of wattle is part of the wonderful transition from winter towards spring.
The seasons don’t always arrive with a neat change of date.
They reveal themselves gradually.
A warmer afternoon bringing a different quality of light. Birdsong in the morning. New growth.
And then suddenly — yellow.
For me, these little seasonal changes are part of what makes living in Australia so fascinating.
There is always something happening if we take the time to look.
Why I paint Australian flowers
I think this is why painting Australian flora has become about much more than simply painting flowers for me.
It has taught me to look closely and to notice the tiny details.
To pay attention to colour and light, and to see the familiar with fresh eyes.
And perhaps that’s one of the quiet gifts of creativity.
It makes you look.
You don’t have to be an artist to experience it.
You don’t even have to pick up a paintbrush.
You can simply walk outside and notice what has changed.
The way the afternoon light falls across a tree.
There is so much beauty hiding in plain sight.
A little invitation
So the next time you see golden wattle blooming, I hope you’ll stop for a moment.
Look closely.
Notice the tiny flowers.
Notice the colour.
Notice the way the light catches them.
And perhaps, for just a moment, let yourself be surprised by something that was there all along.
Because sometimes we don’t need to go looking for something extraordinary.
We simply need to notice the extraordinary in what is already around us.
