Every year I take my small children camping in Woollamia, a strip of bush on the NSW South Coast. The air is clean and warm, slightly crisp come the evening. You can smell the earth, the blossoms, the salty mangroves.

The world moves more slowly in this place. My kids run wild.

I watch the clouds, the tides on the mangroves, the ocean, the tea-tree lined creeks. The way the light streams through the trees after rain, the chaos of the birds in the evening. The grey light of the early morning air, when everyone is sleeping except for the little ochre crabs, busying themselves in the clay of the river bank.

I paint the colours and the movement. I paint the salty crabs and the mangrove roots. I paint my memories of the river at dusk, the last bit of sun, the dappled light reflecting on the tree leaves as the day fades.

My paintings are landscapes and abstractions and smells and memories of this place.

I use floods of colour, scrubby brush strokes, marks to make paintings of this place. I limited myself to seven colours- and whilst mixed they make a myriad of different tones and colours, they provide a structure for my visual memories