still life photography with australian natives
Come with me behind the scenes where I spent five fabulous weeks (July through the first week of August) as Artist in Residence at the Henry Jones Art Hotel—a historic landmark on Hobart’s waterfront. Once the IXL jam factory, this statuesque building—dating back to the early 1800s and restored to become Australia’s first dedicated art hotel—boasts rugged sandstone walls, rough-hewn timber beams, and a sense of history that resonated with my new body of work.
I grew up in a sandstone home and it’s something I’m forever drawn to. It’s such a beautiful substance: warm, grounding, timeless. For that reason—and its blend of industrial past with contemporary artistry—the hotel offered not just a backdrop, but an invitation to explore new creative horizons.
Most of you know me as a nature photographer, working mainly outdoors. But I’m always looking for ways to grow, to stretch into new subjects and skills. And honestly—no one needs to watch an artist sit behind a laptop editing photos for five weeks! Instead, I wanted to bring something lively to the residency: a still-life project inspired by the Dutch and Baroque masters of the 17th century. I pictured moody tableaus, chiaroscuro lighting, deep symbolism, and Australian native fauna as the stars—ideally through taxidermy.
But... Sourcing Australian animal taxidermy specimens proved impossible. Instead, I embraced the unexpected: plush toys. An Eastern quoll, wombat, Australian seal, pink robin, and masked owl became my companions and models. At first, they posed in solemn, traditional setups, but as the weeks passed—and new props found their way in—the mood shifted. What began as brooding and baroque transformed into whimsical and storybook. I like to think of it as swinging from scenes that call forth the four horsemen of the apocalypse to worlds better suited for my little ponies. I’m learning to embrace this dichotomy in my work—you can’t fight who you are!
To bring their worlds to life, I became a hunter-gatherer. I collected seaweed from Tasmania’s southern beaches, foraged foliage from bush and garden, unearthed treasures from op shops, and raided the cupboards of generous friends. Childhood keepsakes and family heirlooms also found their way into scenes—objects I’ve hauled from house to house for years, loved but unused, suddenly revealed as perfect supporting actors
Every day, I arrived with my car loaded like a prop-mobile, while the hotel staff greeted me with coffee, encouragement, and genuine curiosity about what new creature-scene might appear. Their warmth became part of the project itself, small acts of kinship woven into the work.
And then, mid-residency, a surprise actor appeared. Curator Tina discovered a raven that had passed away in the hotel gardens. He was such a striking, beautiful bird that we felt compelled to honour him. With great care, we included him in a series of images—an homage to his kind and a gesture of respect for the place he held in the natural world. Afterwards, he was carried from the city to the Huon Valley, where he could “fly” his final skies in a more fitting resting place.
This residency marked a shift for me—from wilderness landscapes into the rich visual language of still life. It’s a genre I’ve long admired and one I know will continue to feature in future collections. The hotel’s preserved Georgian-style façade, exposed sandstone interiors, and extensive Tasmanian art collection offered a nurturing, inspiring space to experiment. Daily art tours allowed visitors to step into the history of the building, the stories of its artists, and—perhaps unexpectedly—to meet me, mid-process, surrounded by quolls and owls in miniature worlds.
Looking back, this layering of artistry, history, and hospitality shaped everything I created: it grounded the work in place, but also gave me permission to play.
So—thank you. To the Henry Jones staff for your generosity and enthusiasm, and to my plush menagerie (and raven guest star) for being such reliable collaborators. I suspect you’ll have more stage time in future projects.
As I begin curating the first images from this series, I feel excited and proud of the direction this work has taken. It’s a body of photographs I can’t wait to share and eventually exhibit—a celebration of Tasmanian identity, childhood imagination, and the joy of seeing what happens when a serious idea takes a playful detour.
