Limbo

Ancient river red gums inhabit a reserve near my home on Dja Dja Wurrung country. Some are over 500 years old — living monuments shaped by time, each with a distinct presence, gesturing to one another as if telling tales.

Walking kangaroo tracks weaving through invasive weeds and remnants of human intervention, the past feels more present in the twisted limbs above me than on the earth beneath.

One tree, its limb fallen and draped like a body over another, was severed where it once touched the earth — a poised arm interrupted by illegal harvest. These beings, already in gradual decline, are now hastened by climate instability and habitat loss. Limbs vanish overnight.

My work emerges from this space between reverence and erasure, reflecting on the violence enacted upon the natural world and inviting dialogue on custodianship, memory, and the presence of all life in a shifting landscape.