Beneath the Surface

Water has always been part of my story. Long before I ever picked up a camera, I was captivated by what lay beneath the surface.

As a little girl, I was endlessly fascinated by the ocean. I devoured books about shipwrecks and sea creatures, dreaming of hidden worlds waiting to be discovered. My very first fascination with archaeology wasn't ancient ruins or fossils. It was marine archaeology. I became completely absorbed by stories like the Titanic, wondering about the lives that had once unfolded aboard her and the stories still resting silently beneath the sea.

One of the places that left the deepest impression on me was the wreck of the SS Admella off Carpenter rocks in South Australia. Standing there, I remember feeling the weight of history in a way I'd never experienced before. It wasn't just a shipwreck. It was thousands of moments, lives and memories held beneath the water, waiting to be remembered.

Looking back now, I think that fascination was never really about the wrecks. It was about the stories. Water seemed to hold them differently. Gently. Patiently. Almost as though nothing was ever truly lost.

I grew up between two very different bodies of water. The ocean. And the Murray River. Both became playgrounds, classrooms and places of quiet reflection. I spent countless hours swimming, skiing, exploring, watching wildlife and simply being immersed in them. The Murray carries another layer of meaning for me. It's the river my Indigenous family comes from. Perhaps that's why water has never felt like somewhere I visit. It feels like somewhere I belong. Over the years I've realised that every path I've followed somehow leads me back to it… The little girl who wanted to become a marine archaeologist. The artist searching for beauty. The photographer preserving stories. They all meet at the water's edge.

When I'm beneath the surface with my camera, everything changes. The noise disappears. Movement becomes slower. Light bends and dances in ways it never does on land. People stop performing. They simply exist…

There's an honesty underwater that I've struggled to find anywhere else. A softness. A surrender. A feeling that for just a moment, gravity lets go and all that's left is connection.

Maybe that's why I'm so drawn to creating there. Not because it's different. Not because it's artistic. But because it feels like coming home.

Water has always asked me to slow down. To listen. To wonder. To remember. And perhaps that's why it continues to weave itself through every part of my life and my work.

Because for me... Water has never simply been a place. It's part of who I am. Water is life.