Back to the Table

There’s a particular stillness in the studio after being away. The door opens differently. The light falls across the bench at a slightly altered angle. Even the old bricks seem to take note.

Two weeks ago I drove home from Bundanoon after spending a couple of days with Lean Timms, immersed in photography and the discipline of seeing properly. The road carried me through the drama of the Abercrombie National Park – steep escarpments, granite hard against the sky before plunging into dark gullies. Then on to Bundanoon, suddenly lush and green, holding mist in its folds. It felt like moving between registers.

There I sat with a group of like-minded creatives, drinking in Lean’s every word. Not just technical instruction, but a quieter insistence on attention – on standing still long enough for something to reveal itself. On seeing what is actually there, rather than what we expect to find.

I came home feeling slightly rearranged. Not dramatically changed. Just steadier. As though something inside had shifted a few degrees and settled into place.

Then the week turned. The anniversary of Matt’s death – two years without my love and somehow it still feels like yesterday.

Grief here doesn’t arrive loudly. It moves alongside the ordinary – feeding the dogs, boiling the kettle, stepping out at dusk to see what the sky is doing. It sits low and steady, like warmth held in stone after a long day.

I planted a dahlia back in summer – a café au lait – in his honour. No ceremony. Just hands pushing a frost-bitten bulb into cold soil with fingers crossed. Strangely, it flowered fully on the day. A large, soft bloom the colour of worn linen. Layered and generous without trying too hard.

I’ve brought it into the studio where it sits beside me as I work, catching the long late-summer light that still stretches deep into the evening. The calendar says autumn has arrived but the land hasn’t quite agreed. Daylight saving lingers. The air remains warm. The shift is coming, but not yet. There’s a feeling of something about to turn.

Being back at the table feels right.

Quieter. Clearer. More deliberate.

The work is waiting and so am I.