Pump house on Pullens

102cmx92cm acrylic on cotton canvas 2022 Private collection

There is something deeply satisfying about how, in this corner of southern Tasmania, a ridge of eucalypts and a stand of enormous pines overlook dovetailing, zig-zagging, layer upon layer of cleared slopes. As you drive by, the hills roll around one another. The trees and shrubs look like they are riding escalators.

It’s late winter in Woodbridge and deciduous trees are skeletal but there’s a hint of sap beginning to move. Willows and blackberry map watercourses.

On the edge of the dam my friends’ little pump house with a bright red recycled door crouches knee deep in exuberant but temporarily dormant blackberry. I love spotting pump houses. Each one has its own personality depending on where it’s sitting, what it’s made of, who made it, and what level of dilapidation it or the person maintaining it may have reached.

This painting reflects my deep affection for the undulating landscape, for the stories, and for the trees and other inhabitants of this pocket of Tasmania where I live.