I am captivated by the visual poetry of roads—especially those that thread through familiar landscapes. There’s a quiet power in the way man-made elements interact with nature: a stop sign standing like a bold red sculpture against a turquoise sky, or the curve of asphalt becoming the spine of the scene. Olivers Hill, with its sweeping views and personal history, has long been my muse. It’s not just a place; it’s part of my story. Our family home sat perched on the hill, and from there, countless memories unfolded. One of the most vivid: the night I broke down in my HR Holden—Aussie gearbox, hot wheels—right in the middle of this view, fresh on my license, adrenaline high. It was a hairy night, one I’ll never forget. There’s something undeniably beautiful about a road: the promise of where it’s going, the echo of where it’s come from, and that unmistakable feeling of freedom when you hit the road again. My artwork explores these intersections—between place and memory, structure and landscape, motion and stillness.o edit.