It is always interesting for me to step back at the end of a series, and think about the how, what and why. What initially brought the series about? How did it develop? Why?

My series of works always begins with a reaction: a reaction to place, either landscape or architectural, or sometimes a reaction to an object. This reaction is always immediate, and visceral, a deep connection that resonates with my being, and stays with me ever after. So deep is this connection, it finds a way of niggling at my memory, representing itself again and again until I feel compelled to address it visually. Thus was the case with the rocks of Saturna.

I have visited Saturna Island for five years. Over the course of these five years, I have photographed the incredible rock formations that line the coast. Early morning, late afternoon, sometimes during the heat of the day, I have sat upon these rocks and felt their energy, watched as they gently converse, with the water, and with the wildlife that comes to visit. Large, quiet, sentient beings, shaped by time and through intimate connections.

I began studying the rocks by focusing on the shape of the formations as silhouetted against the backdrop of the sea. As with any intentions, although the shape of the forms remained first and foremost as my focus, the energy of the rocks seemed to take center stage. So drawn by the energy of the small drawings, I decided to take my studies into a larger scale. Once again, my intentions, and the eventuating results, were completely different. My second series, the Inner Landscape series, immediately directed me towards a deeper, quieter place. The drawings in this series are about connection, the deep connection and sense of peace I feel, when I sit with the rocks of Saturna.

I have one more series yet to come. Where this series will take me, is anybody’s guess. I just know it is, of necessity.