A Treasure Hunt
Following Intuition, Finding Stillness
It’s been a few weeks since we returned from our road trip to Arkaroola, and I’m still pinching myself that it actually happened. I’m very much still on a high.
Now that winter has arrived, the cold invites a quieter rhythm, time to sit by the fire, rest, read, and turn inward. The world outside feels increasingly unfamiliar. I’ve begun meditating again in the mornings to ground myself. It helps keep my heart open. Operating from that space, staying soft and receptive, feels like the most skilful choice I have right now. That, and making art.
I’ve noticed how easily I can become distracted, and how crucial it is to stay centered when I’m deep in creation mode. Social media, for example, can stop me in my tracks, it’s noisy, addictive, and lures me away from my own explorations. I’m still going to record my progress and share more once the body of work is fully established. Premature sharing adds unnecessary pressure. I need to hear myself think, to follow the clues. Art-making requires me to be totally present, not outside of myself.
The desert continues to vibrate through me. On our morning walks, when the ravens cry, I’m instantly transported back to Arkaroola. They were so vocal there, noisy companions in the stillness.
Back in the studio, I’m thinking about how to translate that felt sense of place into abstract artworks. It feels a bit like a treasure hunt: following intuitive clues, finding small wonders along the way. I have a sense of the shapes I want to convey and the colour palettes I’m most drawn to. Lately, I’ve been enjoying painting onto cotton canvas instead of board. It feels softer somehow, more yielding, more breathable.
There’s also a shift happening in how I approach mark-making. I’m leaning into letting go, stepping back from overly conscious gestures. Intentional marks can feel too stiff and predictable. I’m more excited by the accidental: marks made by mistake, with unconventional tools, or with a dry brush pulled across the surface. Those have an energy that feels alive. Adding collage to a piece can also create a delightful magnetic energy.
The trick, I’m learning, is not to overwork things. That takes real discipline. I have to remind myself, sometimes aloud, that it’s time to stop. To step away. Otherwise I get reckless, like an impatient child who wants to keep pushing and reworking and fixing. Which more often than not, ruins a piece.
Less is more. And that process of reduction—paring things back, holding restraint—is what interests me most right now. How can I evoke the essence of a place without trying too hard? How can I leave space for the viewer to feel it too?
That’s the treasure I’m after.
My website is regularly updated with available work. If you feel drawn to explore, I’d love to share it with you. Thank you, always, for your support.
Warmly,
Samantha