Some paintings quietly change the direction of your work without you realising it.
This was the first eucalyptus I ever painted.
At the time, I wasn’t thinking about building a body of work around Australian native flora. I simply couldn’t stop looking at those soft blue-grey leaves and the brilliant red gum blossom. There was something about the contrast that felt unmistakably Australian, yet wonderfully elegant.
Looking back now, I can see this painting was the beginning of a long conversation with eucalyptus.
Since then, those silvery leaves have appeared again and again on my easel. They’ve become one of the subjects I return to most often, not because they’re dramatic, but because they’re endlessly subtle. Every leaf catches the light differently. Every branch seems to have its own rhythm.
What surprised me most was what happened after I finished the painting.
It was licensed by John Sands, allowing it to find its way into homes around Australia in a completely different form. It also became one of the paintings I returned to in my workshops, sharing the process with hundreds of students over the years. Watching others discover that eucalyptus isn’t simply “green” has been just as rewarding as painting it myself.
When I compare this painting with the eucalyptus works I’m creating today, I can see how much my painting has evolved. My brushwork has softened. My understanding of light has deepened. I notice far more than I did back then.
But one thing hasn’t changed.
I’m still captivated by eucalyptus.
I still pause when I see the powdery blue leaves catching the afternoon light. I still find myself bringing home branches to place on the studio table. And I still believe there is extraordinary beauty hidden in these everyday Australian plants we so often walk past without really seeing.
Perhaps that’s what this painting gave me more than anything else.
It taught me to slow down and look.
And I’ve been looking ever since.
