I’ve always had a taut relationship with guilt and pleasure. Growing up in rural spaces, you are presented with well-trodden pathways to joy; pathways that seem to work for a lot of people.

When I walk these paths, I feel like an idiot. I run towards the same result; clumsy and vapid, but still elated for some inexplicable reason.

I submerge myself in blame when I realise that I am not feeling joy in the industrious, rustic or communal experience they provide. I’ve put myself there because the gum trees and flies feel good on my tongue. I like the smell of the wafer-thin circuitry behind closed doors. I see myself in the shed, covered in redbacks and rust.

This sacred relationship is permitted, and I cannot afford the luxury of guilt anymore.

My works are love letters to myself, to soil, to anyone who feels unorthodox adoration.

 

Recipient of the Owen and Ann Broughton Art Grant

 

A warmest thankyou to the UniSA Staff for their assistance and guidance.