Painting Light: What It Means to Me

Light has always been at the centre of my work, although it’s taken me time to fully understand what that means. In the beginning, I thought I was painting landscapes - coastlines, skies, fields, places I had seen and experienced. But over the years, I’ve realised that it’s not the place itself that stays with me. It’s the light within it.

It’s the way the sky shifts just before rain. The moment when the clouds part and something soft and bright appears, even if only for a few seconds. It’s the glow on the horizon at the end of the day, or the muted light that sits quietly over the land in winter. These are the moments I find myself returning to, again and again.

Living in Tasmania, I’m surrounded by this kind of light. It’s constantly changing, often subtle, and sometimes dramatic. I notice it on my way to the studio, on long walks, or in those in-between moments where nothing in particular is happening. Over time, I’ve realised that this act of noticing is a big part of my practice. The painting begins long before I pick up a brush.

When I start a painting, I’m not trying to recreate a specific scene. I’m not interested in capturing a location exactly as it is. Instead, I’m trying to hold onto a feeling - a sense of atmosphere, a shift in light, a moment that felt significant even if I didn’t fully understand why at the time. The horizon often becomes a place to anchor this, a line that brings structure to something that is otherwise quite open and intuitive.

Light often appears in my paintings as a focal point. Sometimes it’s a diffused glow, a break in the clouds, or a quiet brightness that draws the eye. I don’t always plan it this way, but it tends to emerge as the painting develops. It becomes something to work towards, something to protect, or sometimes something to reveal by painting around it.

There’s also something symbolic about light that I’ve become more aware of over time. It’s not just a visual element. It carries meaning. For me, light represents clarity, calm, and often a sense of hope. It’s that feeling of something opening up, or something easing. Even in darker paintings, there is usually a sense that light is present, or just about to appear.

I think this is why I’m drawn to painting moments of transition - just before the rain, just after a storm, or in the quiet stillness of winter. These are times when light feels more noticeable, more valuable. It isn’t constant or overwhelming. It arrives in small, fleeting ways, and because of that, it feels important.

The process of painting light isn’t always straightforward. It’s often built through layers,- adding, removing, softening, and adjusting. Sometimes the more I try to force it, the less convincing it becomes. It requires a certain amount of restraint and a willingness to let the painting find its own balance. Some of the most successful moments happen when I step back and allow things to settle.

There are also many paintings that don’t work. The light feels flat, or too obvious, or simply not right. These are often the paintings that teach me the most. They remind me that this is not something I can fully control, and that each painting is part of a much longer process of learning and refinement.

Over the past ten years, my work has gradually moved away from describing landscape and towards something more open and atmospheric. I’ve become more interested in reducing elements, simplifying forms, and allowing space within the painting. This has made light even more important. It has less to compete with and more room to exist.

When someone lives with one of my paintings, I hope they experience that sense of light in their own way. Not just as something they see, but something they feel. A quiet presence in a room. A place for the eye to rest. A reminder of the natural world, and of those small, fleeting moments that often go unnoticed.

In many ways, I think I’m still learning what it means to paint light. It’s not something I’ve mastered, and I’m not sure I ever will. But it continues to draw me in, to challenge me, and to shape the direction of my work.

At its simplest, I think I paint light because it represents something I want to hold onto - a sense of calm, a moment of clarity, and the quiet belief that even in darker times, there is always something brighter just beyond.