The Art of Seeing Art

Steve Parish on the art of seeing in photography
A reflection drawn from Module 3 of the Photography: A Pathway to Purpose Masterclass

“Mastering light is a skill; seeing perspective and design is vision.
Photography thrives where the two converge.” — Steve Parish

The phrase The Art of Seeing Art can sound puzzling at first. A student recently rang me and wondered if it was a tautology. That is understandable. But the phrase points to something central to photography, and to the way meaningful images begin.

It is not about photographing paintings.
It is not about art looking at art.
It is about learning to see the world artistically before the camera is raised.

Before a strong photograph is made, before aperture, shutter speed or lens choice come into play, something more important happens first. We notice. We pause. We feel. We recognise that something in the world before us carries mood, meaning, design or emotional resonance.

That first act of perception is where photography truly begins.

Seeing is not the same as looking

Most people look. Far fewer truly see.

Looking is often quick and practical. We register what is there and move on. Seeing is different. Seeing asks for attention, stillness and presence. It asks us to remain with a place or moment long enough for something deeper to reveal itself.

This matters because a camera can only respond to what the eye and heart have first recognised.

A technically competent photograph may describe a place accurately, yet still fail to carry the feeling of being there. We have all had that experience. We return home, review the images, and wonder where the wind in our hair went, or the scent of eucalyptus, the movement of birds, the warmth of light on our skin. The scene is there, but the life of the moment has somehow slipped away.

Presence is part of seeing. When we are fully present, we begin to notice more than subject matter. We notice mood, relationship, rhythm, atmosphere and emotional tone. We stop skimming over the world and begin receiving it more deeply.

That is why seeing matters so much. Photography is not only about recording appearance. It is about recognising presence.

Why seeing comes before technique

Technique matters. Camera craft matters. Composition, timing, exposure and focus all matter. But they work best when they serve something deeper.

Too often, photographers begin with the question, ‘How do I photograph this?’ before first asking, ‘Why does this moment matter?’ or, ‘What is drawing me here?’

The art of seeing art restores the natural sequence.

First, become aware.
Then notice what is drawing your attention.
Then recognise the mood, the relationships, the qualities of light, form and feeling that are present.
Only then does technique become an intelligent response.

In my teaching, this sits at a pivotal point in the photographic process. Purpose shapes the way we approach the world. Projects give that purpose direction. But seeing is the bridge between inner intent and outward expression. It is where the world begins to reveal itself in a more meaningful way.

Strong photographs do not begin with the shutter.

They begin with seeing.

What shapes the way we see

The way we see is shaped by more than eyesight.

It is shaped by presence, contemplation, feeling, experience, memory and influence. It is shaped by what we have loved, what has moved us, what we have studied, and what we have returned to over many years.

Contemplation plays an important role here. When we slow down enough to fully enter a place, creative possibilities open. Observation, reflection and imagination are not luxuries in photography. They are part of the process. They deepen not only image-making, but also interpretation and storytelling.

Light is central to the art of seeing. Not simply as something to manage technically, but as something that changes mood, presence and meaning. Season, time of day, wind, cloud, stillness, diffused light, backlight, storm light, twilight and even harsh light each reveal the world differently. To see artistically is to become sensitive to these shifts — to recognise that light is not merely illumination, but one of photography’s great emotional and expressive forces.

Influence matters too, often in quiet ways. Images, books, films, places and life experiences settle into us over time and shape what we instinctively notice. In my own life, publications like National Geographic had a profound influence on how I saw the world long before I understood photography as a craft. Those influences did not dictate style, but they expanded awareness.

Culture and history also shape perception. The way we learn to respond to simplicity, drama, space, colour, light or story is not formed in isolation. It develops over time through what we are exposed to and what we value. Yet the most meaningful art also reaches beyond culture into something shared — memory, wonder, tenderness, curiosity, connection.

Over time, a photographer’s seeing evolves. Preferences shift. Sensitivities deepen. A distinctive way of noticing the world gradually emerges.

Why this is the focus of my teaching

This is why The Art of Seeing Art holds such an important place in my teaching.

Yes, all the other parts of the broader pathway are essential. A defined creative life purpose matters. Projects matter. Camera craft matters. Interpretation matters. Sharing matters. But seeing sits near the heart of everything that follows.

Whether I am teaching in a weekend workshop or through the online Masterclass, the deeper aim is not simply to help people make technically correct photographs. It is to help them encounter the world with greater attentiveness, sensitivity and depth. It is to recognise how meaning begins. It is to understand that awareness shapes expression long before the camera is used.

In that sense, The Art of Seeing Art is not a phrase for its own sake. It is a way of naming a real and important shift in photographic practice: the movement from simply looking at the world to perceiving it artistically.

When that shift happens, photography changes.

We become less concerned with collecting images and more concerned with receiving experience. We become more patient, more thoughtful, and more responsive to what is actually present. The photograph becomes not only a record, but a response.

A final thought

So what do I mean by The Art of Seeing Art?

I mean learning to recognise the artistic possibilities already present in the world before the photograph is made.

I mean moving beyond looking into felt perception.

I mean understanding that light, atmosphere, design, timing and emotional response are not extras in photography. They are part of the ground from which meaningful images arise.

And I mean that one of the most important steps in becoming a more expressive photographer is learning to see with greater depth, awareness and presence.

That is the heart of my teaching on and offline.

Not every reward of seeing arrives slowly. Sometimes a moment appears without warning — and when it does, readiness matters. A few confident camera habits remove friction, so your attention stays free to notice design, light, and feeling as they arrive.

Noisy Pitta, Mary Cairncross Rainforest — photographed during an Art of Seeing Art weekend workshop, where we slow down long enough for moments like this to arrive.

Continue the journey

If this reflection resonates with you, you’re welcome to continue in two ways:
explore the Photography: A Pathway to Purpose Masterclass,
or join me for the Art of Seeing Art weekend workshop.

Bird photography is becoming increasingly popular. With that in mind, I’ve created this Introductory Guide that offers tips and techniques for photographing birds and recommendations for cameras and lenses. This guide is free to download and share. It also features a complimentary download of one of my historically best-selling books, Amazing Facts About Australian Birds. This title is suitable for readers of all ages. Study it, and you’ll know more about birds than 90% of all Australians!

This unique 300-page interactive eGuide offers an in-depth look at the current state of DSLRs and mirrorless cameras for 2026. It will help you confidently navigate the expansive world of photographic gear as you explore the tools and techniques necessary to bring your vision to life. Unlock the art of storytelling through your lens. With over fifty years of professional experience, Steve simplifies complex settings and techniques to empower your creative voice. Whether you’re capturing breathtaking landscapes, dynamic wildlife, or everyday moments in the urban, street, fine art, wildlife and botanical photography, this unique guide is filled with actionable tips and practical advice for photographers of all levels.

Kati Thanda – Lake Eyre

‘Seek out the essence of your joy,
then honour it with full attention.’
Steve Parish

As a photographer, I’m often torn between realism and abstraction. Thirty hours airborne from William Creek during a period of flooding stands as the pinnacle of my career photographing Australia, both from above and below. Looking vertically from 10,000 feet, I witnessed a mesmerising collage of shape, shadow, colour, and texture that deepened my lifelong love affair with the art of land. I was so overwhelmed by the beauty that tears flowed freely—I was photographing through blurred vision, utterly entranced.

Some landscapes, like the one featured above, resembled vast, living mazes—myriad minor creeks weaving toward the lowest point, ultimately becoming ‘as one.’ It struck me as a powerful metaphor: a river of consciousness. People begin as individuals, flowing in different directions, eventually converging, forming a single, unstoppable force. In nature, these tributaries become Warburton Creek, which winds 400 kilometres to bring life to Lake Eyre.

The transformation water brings to this arid land is one of the most awe-inspiring natural events I’ve ever witnessed. Kati Thanda–Lake Eyre National Park protects these desert expanses, including the nation’s largest salt lake and its lowest point. When I first visited in April 2010, the lake was about seventy per cent full. I spent three unforgettable days flying above the region. That experience remains the highlight of over fifty years of photographing this vast country. There is nothing quite like gazing silently at a changing landscape from above—especially when your pilot knows that silence, too, can be sublime.

Malkumba-Coongie Lakes III

An abstract watercolour inspired by the vast wetland area at Malkumba-Coongie Lakes National Park. As I flew in the late afternoon light over the lakes the colours reflected appeared as a canvas of incredible beauty.

Sky Reflections

On the infrequent occasions that Lake Eyres fills with water the transformation from a white salt-covered landscape to one of the vivid blues reflecting the sky is a sight to behold.

The Edge

Inspired by the way the sun catches and reflects dazzling abstract patterns on the salt crystals around the edges of Kati Thanda-Lake Eyre, a spectacular National Park in north-central South Australia.

Metamorphosis

Kati Thanda-Lake Eyre National Park protects dry desert landscapes, the nation’s largest salt lake and the lowest point on the mainland. When I first visited in April 2010, it was about seventy percent full. I spent three days flying the region, and the experience has been the highlight of my 50 plus years photographing Australia.

Sturt’s Stony Desert I

Sturt’s Stony Desert is an area that extends from the north-east of South Australia across into far southwestern border area of Queensland and down through the far north-west of New South Wales. It was named by Charles Sturt in 1844, while he was trying to find the inland sea which he believed lay at the centre of Australia. The artistry of this landscape lies in the incredibly detailed patterns of what are in effect small flat rocks forming what is, in fact, a tiled pavement like canvas as far as the eye can see.

Kati Thanda I

As Kati Thanda-Lake Eyre fills with water the transformation of a white salt covered
landscape to one of vivid blue is a sight to behold.

Constant Change

During the 2010 extensive flooding of the dunes, claypans, creeks and rivers of the north-west of South Australia many artful abstractions became evident, especially when viewed vertically from the air. Innaminka Regional Reserve,
north-eastern South Australia.

Daydreams

On the infrequent occasions that Lake Eyres fills with water the transformation from a white
salt-covered landscape to one of the vivid blues reflecting the sky is a sight to behold.

Shimmering

As Kati Thanda/Lake Eyres fills the transformation of a white salt covered landscape to one of vivid blue is a sight to behold and certainly one that has highlighted my long career photographing Australia.

Cooper Creek

While flying over Cooper Creek during the 2010 floods
I was inspired by the patterns and colours during late afternoon light.

Photographing Australian Wildflowers

Australian wildflowers have a strong appeal to the senses – some are voluptuous in shape and form, some fragile; some have a scent that is almost overpowering, but in others the perfume is delicate; some are bold and brightly coloured, but others are pale and shy. They are among my favourite subjects for photographing with both still and video cameras.

There is little that gives me more joy than wandering alone, camera in hand, over a desert dune or through the heath during an excellent wildflower season. I like to be as unencumbered as possible so that I can drop to my knees or lie on my belly to marvel at the structure, colour and texture of the object of my inspiration.

A motor drive allows me to keep one hand free, maybe to hold grasses back from my focus point, or, especially in low light, to brace the camera for a slow shutter speed. I often use a tripod for stability, particularly when the light is low and I want to balance the artificial light with the natural light. The tripod also helps with careful focus and detailed composition. While unplanned encounters are great, it is best if you do some planning and time your visits to coincide with the flowering seasons. Western Australia’s south-west in springtime is the most spectacular area for wildflowers. Contact the local parks and conservation authorities for information regarding the timing of your visit.

Spectacular fields of wildflowers

The annual wildflowers of Australia’s temperate coastal heaths can be a spectacle, particularly in southern climes. During the wildflower season (June to November) in the south‑west, Eneabba is particularly well known for its dazzling wildflower displays, as are Mingenew, Morawa and Mullewa shires. When I mention masses of wildflowers, most people think of Western Australia, however pristine areas in Victoria, South Australia and Tasmania also have wonderful displays when conditions are right. Nonetheless, Western Australia is flora rich, with almost 12,000 species, many described as unique to the State.  Rain and sunshine greatly influence the timing of the wildflower season, causing it to span several months. In the north, wildflowers will appear in July with early rains hastening their arrival. As late as November, a blaze of wildflower colour will take over the south when warmer weather produces a totally different collage of flowering species.

Summer rain

Wet wildflowers are irresistible dry when wet they are sensational.  Photographing wildflowers after rain or in the morning dew is sure to add interest to your flowers.  Alternatively, you can carry a spray battle if so inclined.

Birds and wildflowers

You will find it hard to exclude vegetation when taking pictures of almost any of the birds that nest in Australia. What can be worthwhile, however, is to take particular note of any flora that certain species specifically associate with and then photograph the plants separately as part of a story. All avian species have associations with plants. Even if a bird does not use vegetation as a food source, as is the case with birds of prey, it will use it as a source of nesting material or for roosting.

Insects and wildflowers

Photographing spiders and insects and their myriad associations with plants is extremely rewarding. Simply set up your camera and flash, and then go on a hunt to see what you can find. Spring is most certainly the best time, or after rain in more arid regions when lots of flowering plants attract this enormous group of animals.

Nectar‑feeding beetles and butterflies inadvertently carry pollen to other flowers, which helps with the flowers’ fertilisation process. This activity is an interesting challenge to photograph and an important part of all flowering plants’ stories.  Many spiders lurk among the flowers simply to find their prey.

Mammals and wildflowers

The relationship between mammals and flora is inextricable. Flora provides animals with food, shelter and protection from predators. In return, mammals play an essential role in plants’ reproduction processes by transferring pollen and seeds. Capturing this relationship can add depth and meaning to your work.

Photo Tips & Techniques

1. A DSLR or Mirrorless is essential for wildflower photography as a specific focus point focus is crucial. Although in today’s world, a mobile phone camera can do a marvellous job, especially more recent phones with close focus capabilities.
2. If hand-holding, I prefer a “rocking focus” for both flower and small animal photography and use my depth of field preview to select the best aperture to suit the focus effect I want.
3. Macro lenses give much better results than close-up filter attachments. The best focal lengths for flowers are between 100 and 200 mm. Longer lenses can be excellent as well. I often use the Canon 100–400 mm lens because of its close-focusing capability. The upside of longer lenses is that the background bokeh (softness in the background) increases – see images below. 
4. Mastering fill-in flash photography will benefit, mainly to maximise the number of species you record. A small handheld LED light can be helpful too. See my rig above, which is a Nikon D800 with Nikon AF Zoom-Micro Nikkor 70–180 mm f/4.5-5.6D ED lens and Nikon R1C1 Close Up triple Speedlight Commander Kit.  
5. Any research will be of considerable benefit. There are several excellent wildflower reference books and Apps. available. The internet is also a handy source of information. 
6. Private, council, state, and federally managed botanic gardens have either wildflower sections or entire gardens devoted to native flowers. They are ideal for recording species in top condition and offer easy access as you develop your flower photography skills. The Australian National Botanic Gardens in Canberra and Kings Park in Perth are among the many public gardens with excellent native wildflower displays.
7. It is essential to keep detailed records of each species for identification and cataloguing. Whenever possible, shoot the foliage, the fruits, the whole plant and the area (in the wild), not just the flower.
8. If it is not rainy or there is no morning dew, you can carry a small spray bottle to add this remarkable “drippy” effect. This can add considerable drama to wildflower photographers.
9. Every flower is a work of art in its own right, but when the bloom is particularly multidimensional in foliage and general stamen structure, it is worthwhile making a series of images. This can also help with identification, especially if the leaves are included in the picture.
10. Background (angle of view) and depth of field (the areas in focus) management are essential for all close-up photography. Sometimes simply changing the angle of view can make all the difference to the impact of an image.

Our chosen pathway
should reflect our heart’s desire.
 – Steve Parish

When I consider a project has reached expectations, I always get an endorphin rush and a “Yes!” even if it’s a single image. The more clearly the work expresses my emotions in the moment of creation, the bigger the rush and the louder the “Yes!”. It’s the drug that keeps me going. It’s also how I KNOW that I’ve finished – it comes from the heart/gut. Most creatives would agree that the more they exercise their creativity, the better their outcomes are, especially when their processes are free from overthinking during adversity.

Above: A metaphor from nature.
The r eef heron may remain completely still for hours waiting for the tide to bring food within striking range. Then, just before striking out at its prey, the bird ever so gently rocks its body back and forth from left to right while the head remains entirely still. Then, through trial and error, the bird instinctively strikes out with alarming speed. If unsuccessful, the birds will repeat the activity until success is assured. Over, and over, and over, if necessary. After all, if it gives up, it is dead! Humans don’t die physically, but they can tell themselves they are a failure, and before long, they believe it to be true. For some, this can cause considerable anxiety.

Creative self-confidence is an essential quality that must be nurtured, especially during difficult times when it can be used as a tool to overcome obstacles. In other words, it is crucial to become your own art director, to step out with confidence and express your own truth. This is empowering and helps prevent your passion from fading by avoiding slavishly following the styles of others. Design and ideas that surround our vision are crucial in today’s online world.

For all creatives, changing direction is a natural part of the process, whether for commercial or personal reasons. Dealing with change can be daunting, particularly when it affects your financial stability. I personally experienced this in the early 2000s when I realized that my three-decade-long publishing career needed to radically change direction. I remember feeling enormous stress, but I learned to let go and trust the universe to guide my creative future. When phone photography started to impact the tourist market, our company significantly enhanced our children’s publishing offering in 2007. This change was a turning point in my creative life. I cover this topic in detail in my Masterclass and provide some tips below.

If you feel like your creative life is a failure, try looking at that feeling from a different perspective. Emotional responses are temporary and are not a permanent end to your creative journey. They are learning experiences, and all creatives face roadblocks. Don’t fight them; instead, go with the flow.

Many roadblocks can hinder your creativity, such as having no money or time, too many family commitments, fear of the online world, or feeling like there is too much competition. However, you are unique, and there is no competition if you create and present your work with sincerity from your heart. Granting yourself permission to trust your decision-making process is challenging, but it is key to moving forward. It can be even more challenging when negativity surrounds you, such as global events, lockdowns, or politics. In these situations, I find that focusing on positivity and creating an environment of joy can help overcome roadblocks. 

There’s an air of sophistication and confidence in simplicity. 
– Steve Parish

What are the rewards?

As we cultivate our creative lives, we can expect to experience a boost in self-confidence. This newfound confidence may inspire changes in other areas of our lives, and those around us may begin to notice the positive changes as well. As they start to acknowledge this “new normal,” you may find that your loved ones offer support in ways you hadn’t imagined.

I believe that finding a creative voice and expressing it directly affects our mental and physical well-being. It’s about finding a purpose and waking up every day feeling optimistic about what’s ahead. When real-life situations confront us, our creative pursuits can act as a source of strength, bringing authentic joy to our lives.

So, the next time you feel like giving up on your creative endeavors, consider it a crossroads and see your fear as a friend, not a foe. I challenge you to trust in your inner voice and invest in your creativity. I guarantee that your life will be transformed.

Above, is an example of some of the playful expressions during an early process where I was exploring options with my fine art.  Not everything we create needs to have a clear objective.  Montaged mages left to right: Uluru and bloodwood tree – Kurrajong seed pods – Whistling duck feathers.

12 CREATIVE LIFE TIPS

1. View your creative life as a collaboration between what you see and feel and your authentic inner you, your soul. It’s not a competition with others.
2. Look at your work from a distance – perhaps it is a new style of work that needs time to germinate.
3. Today, what may be thought of as failure could be later deemed a success. This has been a very common reoccurrence throughout my creative life.
4. Never discard creative ideas. They are your fuel. Keep them sacrosanct in a secret place if you feel you need to. 
5. Always choose creative council with care, especially during your journey’s early, possibly fragile stages.
6. Switch off all negative voices that do not express your inner truth. This could mean shutting off the news or avoiding people who constantly voice their own pain.
7. When you feel intimidated by a critic, embrace their comment and then quietly reflect on what they say. Who knows, they may be right!
8. Take risks. Banish overthinking from your creative processes. Learn to work instinctively in the present moment. Remember, there is no such thing as tomorrow.
9. Consider your state of mind at the wheel of your creative journey. When still and alone, or when loud music booms, whatever turns you on, work in that space.
10. When you lose what you have held precious in your life, that’s when the creative adventure can really begin. Remember, what you do is not who you are.
11. Consider driven, creative life purpose as the arch-enemy of anxiety and depression.
12. Watch out for pivotal life moments. They can come at any time, without warning. Embrace them without hesitation, as they can bring fundamental change to your life

An Ode to Trees

There are choices on life’s journey
to that boundless place beyond my mind.
One would be to meet you once again—
where sunlight bathes our conversation
and feelings flow without direction or end.

I dream you might, for a moment,
cross my path once more—
to pause my endless journey
beyond this space,
beyond this time,
where branches touch in distant realms
on planes far beyond
the reach of my human mind.

Finding a tree that stands alone, a tree that speaks to your soul is something all of us need to do. When you have found ‘your tree’ the next step is to develop a personal relationship with it. Consider this as one of the most powerful, life-enhancing ways to connect with nature.

As with all new relationships, there is work to be done. Sit, bare-footed on the earth with your back to the trunk of your new friend and while shielded by its shade enter a state of ‘no thought.’ Breath slowly and deeply, and in the stillness, you will find your senses become heightened. Soon you start to see and feel art in the simplest of things around you; the abstract colours, patterns and textures of bark; the dynamic structure of buttresses dripping with fungus, moss and alive with a multitude of mini-beasts. Then there’s the artistry of fallen leaves, fruits and flowers – so many elements to catch the eye.

Revisit and repeat the process throughout the seasons and in many kinds of weather. Visit at dawn, at dusk and in the inky blackness of the night. Soon you will realise that you have become part of that tree.

You will never be alone; you will be in the company of many living things. All will know you are there; nothing goes unseen, unheard, unfelt. Many mammals, birds, and reptiles, a multitude of living things have already long-bonded with ‘your tree’. You will find this is so and you will begin to see much further than you have ever seen before.

A special relationship

Over the decades, I have developed relationships with some unique trees. Some are protected in National Parks and council gardens and even honoured with signs and barricades that protect and celebrate their grandness. Others are so unique that the landowners have seen fit to signpost ‘no entry’.  Still, others are atop mountains or deep in a rainforest-clad gorge. These extraordinary sometimes age-old botanical wonders have captured my artistic attention over decades of wandering. As I revisit them, I like to take pause, reflecting on my life journey. Who was I back then? How far have I travelled since then? It’s like turning back the pages of a diary.

‘A Mountain Ash Morning I and II’

A misty morning deep inside the towering mountain ash forest, a striking feature of Australia’s temperate wet forests at Yarra Ranges National Park, Victoria, sets a captivating scene. The mountain ash, or Eucalyptus regnans, is the world’s tallest flowering plant, reaching over 100 meters. On ABC’s Catalyst program, ‘Australia’s Favourite Tree,’ experts praised its ecological significance and unique adaptations.

These remarkable trees provide critical habitats for numerous species, including the endangered Leadbeater’s possum, and play a vital role in carbon sequestration, helping to mitigate climate change. Their deep-rooted systems stabilise soil and prevent erosion, which is critical in maintaining the forest ecosystem. Notably, mountain ash can regenerate after bushfires, showcasing its resilience.

‘Gondwana Forest’

Commonly known as Antarctic beech, is a crucial Gondwana relict of the rainforests of the southern hemisphere. It occurs in wet, fire-free areas at high altitudes in eastern Australia. The Antarctic beech grows in cool temperate rainforests from the Barrington Tops plateau in New South Wales, north to the Lamington Plateau and Springbrook Plateau, in southern Queensland, between altitudes of 480 m and 1550 m. It occurs in temperate to cool temperatures and with occasional snowfalls. Antarctic beech achieves its finest development at Werrikimbe National Park and Mount Banda Banda.

‘Wurundjeri Country’

A world of moisture and mystery, deep within the Yarra Ranges National Park, where ancient myrtle beech trees rise like living monuments draped in rich cloaks of moss. Every surface glistens in the damp, filtered light—branches, trunks, and forest floor alike—creating an ethereal green tapestry that speaks of time, resilience, and the quiet persistence of nature. This ecosystem is untouched by hurry, where life unfolds in layers and silence is broken only by dripping water and the occasional call of a lyrebird.

‘Each As One’

A grand old mulga tree is the central refuge during waterhole activity for flocks of emerald-green budgerigars and pink and grey galahs. When a predatory bird sweeps past, thousands of budgerigars respond in perfect unison, fleeing to the tree with astonishing synchronicity. Their collective movement—fluid and precise—suggests a hidden language, a kind of instinctive communication that binds them together like a single, breathing organism.

‘An Old Friend II’

A Ghost Gum’s smooth white bark contrasts the rugged red-brown ridges of the MacDonnell Ranges, Northern Territory. I consider this tree a friend—steadfast, silent, and ever-welcoming. For over thirty years, I’ve returned to this exact spot, greeted each time by its familiar form. In a landscape shaped by time and harsh conditions, this tree has become a living marker of continuity and quiet companionship, offering not just shade, but a sense of belonging in the vastness of the desert.

‘Light Hunter’s Delight’

I grew up in a culture of guns and hunting. It was the late 50’s and there were gun shops on every corner. Hunting, mainly fish and rabbits for food, was very much part of my youth. I feel these youthful experiences have served me well because nature photography is very much about hunting. Patience, at times stealth, a keen eye for detail and an addictive personality are all integral to this work. The prize, of course, is a sense of delight when even the most simple of elements, like the textural echoes seen in this composition, come into play.
Boab tree Kimberly District, Western Australia.

‘The Oneness’

The interrelations between the living and non-living elements in any ecosystem are a great source of fuel for any creative soul regardless of medium. I have reflected upon many ecological and, in this case artistic, relationships for many years and find the challenges, wins, and losses, both constant and enriching. I see the content of this digital charcoal sketch – something I like to do when I am feeling particularly playful – as a triangle between the tree, the rock, and my own emotions; in this trilogy, the ‘oneness’.

‘Life from Light’

As one of the planet’s most endangered wild places, the tropical rainforest is also among its most diverse and breathtakingly beautiful ecosystems. These lush green realms are not only heartlands of inspiration but also present a formidable photographic challenge.

I’ve spent years immersed in that challenge—capturing not just the rainforest’s visual splendour, but the deep emotional resonance it stirs within me. All forests are driven by a single impulse: the reaching for light. Interpreting that instinct visually has been a constant and compelling pursuit.

In this image, I wanted to honour the twists and turns of a grand old fig tree—its gnarled limbs reaching skyward in a slow, determined dance toward the sun.

Tropical Rainforest, Daintree World Heritage National Park, Queensland

‘Mist Forest’

‘Fairytails’

The Pandani or giant grass tree is a distinctive endemic Tasmanian angiosperm. It is dicot belonging to the Ericaceae family and is found in central, western and south-west Tasmania. This fairytale setting at Cradle Mountain is one of my favourite in the world of Australian botany.  Cradle Mountain-Lake St Clair National Park, Tasmania

‘Matilda’s Billabong’

River red gum at Combo’s waterholes, north-west Queensland, inspired ‘Banjo’ Paterson to write Waltzing Matilda, Australia’s most popular folk song. They are a refuge for wildlife during dry times.

‘Lost in Mist’

I became so absorbed with this encounter that I subsequently became disoriented in a heavy mist. I have never been able to find this remarkable rock-embraced snow gum since. Mount Field National Park, Tasmania.

‘Mountain Mist’

Even in its passing, this grand old twisted gumtree is one of my favourites, and I love to revisit it when in Tasmania, especially in misty weather. Mount Wellington, Tasmania.

‘Worrora Country II’

In the quiet tide of Doubtful Bay, where the Kimberley whispers its ancient secrets, the Rhizophora mangrove stands as a sculptor of time. Its buttress roots stretch like graceful arms, weaving through the mud and water, embracing the earth with a rhythm that speaks of patience and resilience. These roots rise in sweeping arcs, their forms both delicate and bold, etched by centuries of tides. Each curve, each twist, is an artwork carved by the forces of nature, a testament to survival in a land where the land and sea are in constant, graceful dialogue. In their bold beauty, these roots evoke a sense of both grounding and reaching, as if the mangrove tree is rooted in the past, yet reaching ever upward, stretching toward a future of endless possibilities.

‘Standing Tall’

The Ghost Gum in Trephina Gorge Nature Park stands as a monumental testament to the enduring strength of the Australian outback. This grand specimen, said to be the tallest Ghost Gum in the Macdonnell Ranges, reaches an impressive 33 metres in height, its branches stretching boldly toward the endless sky. At over 300 years old, this ancient tree has withstood the harshest of conditions, its weathered bark and twisted form telling stories of time and resilience.

It is a silent sentinel, watching over the rugged landscape, its white bark stark against the deep red of the surrounding cliffs. Beneath its broad canopy, the whisper of the wind through the leaves is a soft reminder of the tree’s longevity and the secrets it holds. To stand beneath its towering frame is to connect with a history that stretches far beyond human memory, a living monument to the spirit of the land, ever growing, ever enduring.

‘Kurkara’ & ‘The Healing Tree’

Above left: ‘Kurkara’ – The desert oak is a medium-sized, slow-growing tree found in the desert regions of the Northern Territory, South Australia and Western Australia.  The Anangu peoples know this iconic arid land tree as kurkara.

Above right:  ‘The Healing Tree’ – Historically, Indigenous Australians use the desert bloodwood tree for traditional medicine. The exudate from the trunk or branches was diluted and used as an antiseptic treatment of facial cuts and sores. Larger leaves were also useful for staunching wounds. The red bark kino can be stripped from the tree and mixed in water then consumed for diarrhoea as well as for indigestion and chest pain. The wood from the tree was also used by Indigenous peoples to make spear-throwers, digging bowls and carrying vessels. Europeans used the wood to make fence-posts, joists slabs and buildings as well as using it for firewood.
Both images: Uluru, Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park, Central Australia.

Abstracts & Impressions

When my mind ceases to think of outcomes 
I enter a state-of-play, a special place inside where true joy resides.  – Steve Parish

This collection focuses on abstractions, montages, collages, and playful impressions of a wide range of content. While the many genres have a definite place, inside my head, there is a little boy who loves his wide-ranging palette and simply loves to play—nothing more and nothing less.

This collection focuses on the visual language of shape, form, colour, and line, creating compositions that can exist independently from the ‘real’ world. In the realm of photography, I’ve pushed the boundaries of enhancement, transforming some images radically in terms of colour, texture, and form, while others stand as abstract works in their own right.

The collection represents both interpretations of field experiences and subsequent playful rendering via digital manipulation of those field encounters. The content in this portfolio originates from wetlands, arid lands, woodlands, forests, oceans, and reefs, as well as collected imagery over time across every corner of the Australian continent on land, from the air, and beneath the sea.

Above: ‘Karlu Karlu’.  Karlu Karlu / Devils Marbles Conservation Reserve, Northern Territory. This image is about both geological form and fantasy for me, and the tension between the two has produced this outcome. 

Reawkening

To witness the reawakening of previously dry, dusty, seemingly barren landscapes never ceases to be a thrilling experience. Southwest Queensland

‘The Isness’

The acceptance of ‘what is’, the quality of being, also became a revelation to me quite recently. It is very pertinent to photography because considerable anxiety can arise if the photographic conditions – weather, light, finding the subjects you seek’, are not immediately forthcoming.  Over the years, I have learnt to accept what is in any given moment; this applies very much to wildflower photography fieldwork.  So I have a choice. I can choose to become anxious, upset, filled with mind stories, or just accept the isness and discover many more exciting photography subjects.  This image was on one field trip ‘out of season’, so I thought what a surprise to find the recent rains had generated a spectacular new blooming of colour.
Stirling Ranges National Park, Western Australia

‘Noongar Country I, II & III’

Colour is without doubt my most important ingredient as a photographer of the natural world. In fact, as a young underwater photographer, it was the intense colour found in marine life that fuelled my drive to document, then share, the images with anyone who would look. Flowering plants have presented me with similar joyful moments. The image of wildflowers are a celebration of that journey, a journey into one of the world’s most diverse and colourful kingdoms, the flowering plants of Australia.
All three images above,  Wildflower carpeting, Morawa Shire, central Western Australia.

‘Shifting Goalposts’

This image and the back-story to follow, came to me while contemplating the shimmering reflections close to the Pieman Rivers’ bank in western Tasmania. Closer to the rivers edge the lines were most disrupted, the further out the shimmering deceased. At the time I thought, wow, that’s how it is in life. Life’s dramas, always subside. Small and even monumental changes to our life situation can come charging out of a clear blue sky at a moment’s notice as if some dominant force reached down and moved your goalposts without warning!

‘Alpine Inspiration’

Snow gum tree bark ranges in colour and young branches are glossy and red and as the tree matures, it develops smooth bark ranging in colour from green to grey and cream. This abstract reflects those colours.

‘Special Schools’

Beneath the eucalyptus trees
down among the fallen leaves
and branches,
a silent, shuffling shape
goes searching,
leaving telltale traces
only for those with time
and lots of patience,
who have been to special schools
to learn to see.

When in forests and woodlands, I must remember to look down at my feet!

‘Kati Thanda I & II’

As a photographer, I am often torn between realism and abstraction. Thirty hours airborne from William Creek during the 2010 floods represents the highlight of my entire career photographing Australia from above and below. The collages of shape, shadow, colour and texture while looking vertically from 10,000 feet reinforced my love affair with the art of land. I was so excited that the tears flowed freely, so much so, I was focussing blind!

Water seeps from Warburton Creek into Lake Eyre, Kati Thanda-Lake Eyre National Park, South Australia

‘Yandruwandha Country I’

Yandruwandha 1 was inspired while flying across the multiple ecosystems found in Malkumba-Coongie Lakes National Park, a spectacular wild place in far northeastern South Australia. The flight was late afternoon, and the country was in flood. The dunes and grasslands, when combined with sky reflections across mirror-calm waters, provided a colour palette beyond anything I have ever witnessed.

As One

Like a giant maze spilling across the landscape, a myriad of minor creeks find their way to the lowest point where they become ‘as one’ — an excellent metaphor for what has now become the river of consciousness. People begin a movement independently, which then forms one influential collective. In this case, the many tributaries combine as Warburton Creek, which then takes a 400-kilometre journey culminating in the flooding of Lake Eyre. The change the water brings to this arid landscape is one of the most stunning natural events I have ever witnessed.

Flooded and blooming landscape north-eastern South Australia

‘The Art of Land I & II’

When viewed from above, the artistry of this landscape lies in the incredibly detailed patterns of what are, in effect, small flat rocks that make up a  tiled, pavement-like canvas as far as the eye can see.  Know as gibber desert it is home to one of the world’s most deadly snakes, the inland taipan (Oxyuranus microlepidotus)

‘Vulkathunha I & II’

Vulkathunha–Gammon Ranges National Park (which includes Lake Frome Regional Reserve) is a collection of unique habitats ranging from deep, tree-lined gorges to ancient mountain slopes and peaks, from open mulga woodland to major salt lake ecosystems such as Lake Frome.  Like so much of Australia, the geological textures have provided this artist with decades of pleasure.

‘Tenacity’

This tough, wind-blown little tea-tree was growing almost horizontally to the ground. It had sent its roots on what one could only describe as a horizontal journey for survival. What a great metaphor for life’s journey, reminding us that whilst we humans crave certainty, true certainty doesn’t really exist. It is an illusion. Only a willingness to embrace change, a conscious effort to remain open to life’s challenges, enables a moderate chance of survival.  In 2019 the Kangaroo island wildfires burnt the entire region, however, the good news is the wind-swept tea trees are returning.  I could think of no better nature metaphor for the challenges we humans face throughout our lives.  You can lose everything you own, however you cannot lose who you are.

‘Tenacity’ – Tea-tree Kangaroo Island.  

‘My Beating Heart’

The artful contortions of fig tree roots wrapping around a sandstone boulder inspired me to think of my beating heart. King George River region coastal Kimberley Western Australia.  Having recently in 2020 had both a triple bipass and a main heart value replacement it is even more relevant!

‘Another Stairway’

Days after making this image, the entire region burst into flames with one of the  eastern Tasmania’s worst bushfires in history. Locals experienced great loss and subsequent emotional strain. Having experienced loss myself, and working on the philosophy expressed in an Eckhardt Tolle quotation, ’You can lose something you have, but never something you are’, I picked myself up and, with the blessings attached to my CLP and my connection with nature, was able to engage with life once more with renewed vigour. 

Initially, I found the monumental changes in my life intimidating. As a result of the many ‘poor little me’ mind stories I repeated to myself, I wound up with massive, life-threatening anxiety attacks. Over the years that followed, I rediscovered myself through digital art. In doing so, I realised once more that there is always another stairway (or pathway) leading to yet another episode in the amazing adventure of life.

‘Tarkine Tideline’

Sand between toes, warm breeze on bare skin, the smell of salty air, sea-sounds that surround and all the while a downward search for artistry. Wandering the tideline with an artist’s eye is sure to take one’s mind far away from the past and the future to the joy of this moment.

‘Networking’

Humans have been networking to benefit the collective for eons, corals have been doing it for much, much longer. Working with this animal group makes my heart sing. 

‘Bluestone Bay’

Each time I visit Tasmania’s Freycinet National Park, I schedule a morning start for Bluestone Bay.

‘Planet Butterfly & Planet Angelfish’

Australian Natural History:

Kangaroos & Wallabies

Text and Photography & text Steve Parish – Profiles Karin Cox

Even while I was working with macropod experts in the Queensland National Parks and Wildlife Service, kangaroos and wallabies didn’t capture my imagination the way they do today. Of course, I had photographed the big red roos sprinting across Queensland’s western plains. Sure, agile, red-necked and whiptail wallabies had been recorded when the chance arose, but it was more opportunistic than deliberate. Although I had plenty of colleagues who were researching kangaroos and wallabies, my own connection was yet to occur. It was not until 1983, during a year-long trip around Australia, that I began to realise these animals were more than just hopping mammals that carried their babies in pouches.

In the autumn of 1983, I arrived in the Gammon Ranges (above), just north of the Flinders Ranges in South Australia. I was collecting images for a book, Australia’s Wilderness Experience, to be written by Allan Fox, a renowned environmentalist and educator. Ironically, my first “wilderness experience” was to photograph feral goats. While waiting for goats to descend to drink at the waterholes in the late afternoon, I filled my time watching the behaviour of wallaroos, which were abundant in that area. After hour upon hour of watching these mammals, I began to see that they were quite fascinating. I noticed how the young males and females reacted to the adult males, and how acutely aware they were of everything that was happening around them. Their agility when negotiating steep, seemingly impassable cliff faces was incredible. Boy, these animals are at one with their habitat, I thought to myself.

A fascination begins –  Previously, on assignment for a book about Australia’s Great Dividing Range, I had photographed expert rock-climbers at Mount Arapiles in Victoria, but the wallaroos would put these guys to shame! While gazing through my lens into the dark, liquid eyes of a “teenage” doe (opposite), my macropod fascination began. It would later continue to build, with increasing passion, as I set out to record as many examples of macropod behaviour as possible in my lifetime. My fascination now extends to all fifty living Australian species (six species have become extinct since European settlement) and numerous behavioural aspects.

Above: Many macropods are easily identified when their heads are seen in profile, so I create profile portraits of all new species I encounter. This montage represents half of all the macropods found in Australia today. 

Experience has taught me that it is helpful to have a basic understanding of the taxonomic classification of a group of animals before I set out to photograph them. Since my early experiences with fish and marine invertebrates, I can far better appreciate observations in the wild knowing a little about how the different genera evolved and where they “fit” within an order. Over the past two decades, numerous television programs, books and articles have featured the astonishing mammals in the Macropodoidea superfamily, so it stands to reason that few creatures symbolise Australia as successfully. Three families within the superfamily are often referred to as macropods, although the correct term is “macropodoids”. They include the potoroids (potoroos and bettongs); the sole living member of the Hypsiprymnodontidae family (the unique musky rat-kangaroo) and the larger “true macropods” in the Macropodidae family (pademelons, tree-kangaroos, kangaroos, the quokka, wallabies, and rock-wallabies). Compared to other mammals, macropods’ bounding gait, pouch young, boxing stance and tough disposition make them highly original, and, for me, simply enthralling.

Twelve Favourite Macropods

Musky Rat-kangaroo 

The Musky Rat-kangaroo is an oddity, the lone surviving member of its family. It is also the only rainforest marsupial known to hoard seeds and fruits by burying them beneath leaf litter; consequently, it is an important ecological disperser of rainforest plants and one of the few marsupials that might provide compelling clues to the origin of extant marsupials.

Dwelling on the forest floor in moist tropical rainforests in north-eastern Queensland, from Mt Lee to Mt Amos, near Cooktown, this creature is among the few wholly rainforest-dwelling marsupials in the world and prefers habitat of less than 1200 m altitude.

Dietary components vary throughout the year, depending on availability, but it is mostly a fructivore that prefers rainforest fruit, supplemented by invertebrates and above-ground fruiting bodies of fungi. This species is not designed for excavating underground fruiting fungi like the potoroids, but will sniff and forage in the leaf litter opportunistically for food.

Northern Bettong

Also known as the Tropical Bettong, a common name which is reflected in its species epithet, the Northern Bettong is endemic to Queensland’s tropical north. Smaller and more dainty than its southern kin, it is a dedicated truffle eater that seeks out ectomycorrhizal fungi by smell and digs it up using its sturdy forepaws.

Isolated populations occupy parcels of eucalypt woodland growing on granitic soils and dominated by Lemon-scented Gum, Poplar Gum, bloodwoods, grass-trees, tea-tree and Red Stringbark. All are at 400–1200 m altitude and on Mt Windsor and Mt Carbine tablelands of north Queensland, or on the Lamb Range and at Mount Zero. 

Northern Bettongs use their forepaws to excavate and devour truffles, leaving the outer husk and eating the spores inside. More than half of their diet is made up of this delicacy, but they also consume invertebrates and stems and tuberous material from grasses such as Cockatoo Grass, as well as lilies and orchids.

Lumholtz’s Tree-kangaroo

Known to Indigenous peoples of the region as the Boongarry, Mabi or Mapee, this inhabitant of dense rainforest between the Mt Carbine Tablelands and Cardwell Range, appears to prefer rainforest that grows on basaltic soil and may once also have inhabited coastal rainforests at lower elevations. Available patches of habitat have shrunk considerably as the continent dried out since the Pleistocene and as the result the species lacks genetic diversity. 

Like Bennett’s Tree-kangaroo, they are nocturnal and solitary, aggressively defending a home range of 0.7–2.0 ha for female and 1.9–2.1 ha for males. Lumholtz’s Tree-kangaroos are very dedicated to their territory and may be reluctant to abandon it even if it sustains damage or is partially cleared.

As many as 37 species of vines, trees and fruits are consumed, including the Black Bean and Pepperberry Trees and some that are poisonous to other mammals, such as the Shining Stinging Tree, Wild Tobacco and Lantana.

Rufus Hare-wallaby

Another small mammal to have declined since the 1800s, the Rufous Hare-wallaby once occupied the greater part of Western Australia, the Northern Territory and South Australia’s arid and semiarid lands. Historical reports even note its abundance and it was a common food source for Indigenous people and is recorded in Dreaming mythology of the desert Aborigines, who reportedly hunted it by following it to its hide, stomping on the burrow entrance then digging the animal out.

Recorded from the Gibson, Great Sandy and Tanami Deserts, this species has vanished from its former haunts and is confined to Bernier and Dorre Islands off Western Australia, and a captive-bred population on Trimouille Island. Relocation to former parts of its range in the Tanami Desert failed, probably due to the feral cat. Spinifex hummock grassland, sandy dunes and the fringes of salt lakes were its preferred environments on the mainland, usually close to old drainage lines containing sparse paperbark shrub and termite mounds.

Grasses, forbs and the tips of Spinifex make up most of its diet, but it will also eat insects and seeds in drought, benefiting from the higher water content. It is also known to feed on succulents that grow on salt flats or burnt areas.

Spectacled Hare-wallaby

This mid-size hare-wallaby is one of the most strikingly patterned of its genus, with rufous rings around the eyes making it easily distinguishable from other small wallabies.

It is known to patchily inhabit tropcial grasslands, open woodlands, forests, tussock-grass shrublands and even hummock grasslands and survives in small populations in the wattle shrubland of the Tanami Desert and in the Pilbara region of Western Australia and Barrow Island, as well as on Cape York, Queensland. Once considered by Kimberley Aborigines to be rather common, it is now only very sporadically sighted there. It reaches its highest density on Barrow Island, off the Western Australian coast, where the feral cats are absent.

Most of its diet appears to be grass and forbs, particularly legumes, but it is also known to eat shrubs and the tips of Spinifex leaves.

Predation by the Feral Cat has been linked to a decline in populations and a contraction in range. Land use and pastoral practices, competition with grazing stock, and altered fire regimes may also have led to its contraction in range.

Antilopine Wallaroo

Monsoon woodlands and thick eucalypt woodlands close to dense, grassy wooded areas in the tropics are the prime haunt of the Antilopine Wallaroo, one of Australia’s most little-studied macropods.Gould referred to it as the Red Wallaroo and illustrated it under the scientific name Osphranter antilopinus, noting its large size. It is among the most sociable of the wallaroos, forming small mobs that operate under a hierarchy.

Like typical wallaroos, this species is occasionally found in hilly terrain but is more common in flat, wooded areas. Its range on Cape York and in the top end of the Northern Territory and the Western Australian Kimberley overlaps that of the Common and Black Wallaroo, as well as the Eastern Grey and Red Kangaroo.

Grasses and forbs make up most of the Antilopine Wallaroo’s diet. In the late afternoon they move to feeding grounds and continue to graze into the night, returning to cover at dawn.

Eastern Grey Kangaroo

Eastern Grey Kangaroos date back at least 4 million years in the fossil record, evidence they existed for relatively long time before Red Kangaroos or the short-faced mega kangaroos. A remarkably successful species, Eastern Greys are the kangaroos most visitors to Australia will interact with in fauna parks, national parks and campsites and were made famous by the 1960s television program Skippy the Bush Kangaroo, which starred a female Eastern Grey.

They dwell in patches of habitat that receive 200–1900 mm of rainfall annually, but their preference is generally for dry eucalypt forest, heathlands, shrubland, woodlands and mallee shrub that receives about 600 mm a year. Less arid-adapted than the Western Grey or Red Kangaroo, the increasing availability of free water thanks to agricultural pursuits has increased their range west of the Great Dividing Range and they now extend inland to the Dingo fence that borders South Australia and from Cape York, Queensland, to New South Wales, Victoria and Tasmania.

As much as 99% of the diet is made up of grass, supplemented by soft herbs, ferns, bark and the seedlings of some trees and shrubs, as well as some agricultural crops. Molar progression enables them to continue to graze on what is an abrasive diet and a sacculated stomach facilitates fermentation of cellulose. Eastern Grey Kangaroos feed just before sunset, foraging through the night and seeking cover shortly before dawn. They are known to graze on golf courses, in pine plantations, or anywhere that provides acceptable cover close to grassy foraging grounds.

Red Kangaroo

An iconic Australian mammal that represents the nation at a Federal level on our Coat of Arms and is also the mascot for Qantas, Australia’s national airline, the Red Kangaroo is unmistakably distinct from the smaller kangaroos and wallabies. This supremely arid-adapted marsupial dwells in every Australian State with the exception of Tasmania, and inhabits even the inhospitable Red Centre. Gould called it “not only … the most beautiful member of the family to which it belongs, but … the finest of the indigenous Mammals of Australia yet discovered; its large size, great elegance of form, and rich and conspicuous colouring all tending to warrant such an opinion.”

Red Kangaroos are the world’s largest marsupials, standing more than 1.4 m tall, and are among the most sexually dimorphic of macropods. Males are much larger than females, exhibiting the typical rusty red coat brought to mind by their common name.

A mammal of the open plains, grasslands and flood plains, the Red Kangaroo reaches its highest population densities in Queensland and central New South Wales in regions that are also prime sheep grazing habitat. They are also sometimes seen in areas of higher rainfall, including woodlands and irrigated pastoral lands.

Grass and herbs, especially short new shooting grass such as Five Minute Grass, comprise the bulk of its diet in summer. When the season is less favorable it also consumes forbs and shrubs and will travel as far as 50 km to take advantage of fresh green pick following infrequent rain. Young males, which are generally more transient than females, may even cover a distance of several hundred kilometres over three or more months.

Western Brush Wallaby

Endemic to the south-west corner of Australia, the Western Brush-wallaby is sometimes also known as the Black-gloved wallaby, a references its black fore- and hindpaws. Among the largest of Australia’s wallabies, it is an inhabitant of open forest, woodlands and floodplains and is primarily a grazer.

It is distributed  from Cape Arid to just north of Kalbarri National Park in South-West Western Australia and prefers open forests and woodland with an understorey of low grasses or scrubby thickets. It also frequents heathland, but avoids tall or wet sclerophyll forest where the undergrowth becomes too dense.

A grazer, presumably grass makes up most of its diet, although few studies have focussed exclusively on the Western Brush-wallaby. One study that did found that they consume as many as 29 plant species, among them the Hottentot Fig, Couch Grass and Christmas Tree. Indications are that it does not need free water.

Bridled Nailtail Wallaby

The Bridled Nailtail Wallaby is a mammal of the continent’s eastern inland, but has fared badly since European colonisation. Once known colloquially as “Flash Jack” thanks to its speed and beautiful colouration, this wallaby was distributed inland from Queensland to Victoria. Gerard Krefft once wrote that it was “the most common of the smaller species of the kangaroo tribe”, but despite that it was thought be extinct by the 1930s. In 1973 it was rediscovered by a fencing contractor, one Mr Challacombe, who had been hired to enclose an area of scrub near the town of Dingo. Fortuitously, Mr Challacombe carried with him a copy of Woman’s Day magazine, which contained an article on extinct animals. He noticed that an illustration of the Bridled Nailtail Wallaby, drawn in the 1840s, closely resembled the animal he had seen on the property and hence the continued existence of this marsupial was discovered.

The Bridled Nailtail Wallaby is a semiarid-adapted wallaby that dwells in open gum tree forest, brigalow scrub and acacia woodland on the dry slopes and plains west of the Great Dividing Range. It is a fringe dweller, preferring an edge habitat where denser vegetation meets suitable grazing plains, shrubland or grassy woodland. Now surviving in a natural wild population only in a restricted, 11,400-ha parcel of land known as Taunton Scientific Reserve near Dingo in Queensland, captive-bred individuals have been introduced to the Australian Wildlife Conservancy’s Scotia Sanctuary in New South Wales and a translocated population exists in Idalia National Park, central Queensland. In the mid-1800s it was distributed from Charters Towers in Queensland to the banks of the Murray River in Victoria.

More prone to browsing than most macropods, the Bridled Nailtail feeds on succulents, forbs, soft-leaved grasses, and leaves from the Emu Bush during drought or seasonally arid periods. When feeding, it remains close to cover, usually moving fewer than 200 m from grassy or shrubby cover.

Hunting for the fur industry in the mid nineteenth-century exacerbated its decline, as did competition with livestock, and drought in the 1990s. The Wedge-tailed Eagle, Dingo and Feral Cat are assiduous predators of juvenile Bridled Nailtail Wallabies.

Yellow-footed Rock-wallaby

Arguably Australia’s most attractive rock-wallaby species, and the largest species in the Petrogale genus, the distinctive Yellow-footed Rock-wallaby is easily distinguished from its relatives by its flamboyant markings and long, rufous to black-ringed tail. As a result of its beauty in the late 1800s it was ruthlessly exploited for its fur, which led to declines in some areas of its range, especially in South Australia.

This species’ coat is fawn-grey above but several other colours lend it a lovely contrast. The limbs and tails are a rich orange-yellow, the belly is white, the ears are long, pointed and orange, and the face has a distinct white stripe on the cheek below brown fur on the muzzle. An off-white side stripe and brown and white hip-stripe add to its appeal. Also distinct is a brown mid-dorsal stripe from the crown to the centre of the back. The limbs and feet are a bright orange–yellow and the tail is rufous-brown with darker “rings” and either a brown or white tip.

The Yellow-footed Rock-wallaby exists only in a very small, captive-bred population in Queensland, near the town of Blackall, in an even smaller population in north-western New South Wales, and in three populations in South Australia. All are patchily distributed in rocky terrain surrounded by a mosaic of semi-arid vegetation and woodland close to water.

Grass, forbs and sometimes the foliage from trees and low-growing shrubs comprise its diet.

Quokka

Monotypical and confined to the south-west of Western Australia and Rottnest Island, where it reaches its highest densities, the stout, chubby-cheeked Quokka deserves its reputation as one of Australia’s “cutest” macropods.

Populations dwell in the Jarrah, Karri and Marri forests of the south-west and are patchily distributed in Stirling Ranges National Park. A mosaic of habitats are preferred by this species and it may be that changed fire regimes, which did not support a patchwork of different vegetation in various stages of regrowth, have contributed to contracting its mainland range. Habitat consists of Paperbark and Wattle thickets, Tea-tree swamp that fringes waterways, as well as sedgeland of Gahnia species and tall dry eucalypt forest. It once ranged east as far as Fitzgerald River National Park and was abundant around Albany, even being considered an agricultural pest, although is now Vulnerable and reaches its highest density on Rottnest Island.

Gregarious and mostly nocturnal (although they are much more diurnal on Rottnest Island and may be seen about by day), Quokkas from small groups that exist under a hierarchy governed by the oldest males. Nest sharing and mutual grooming are common Males cluck softly when courting females in oestrus.

The Quokka’s diet is more specialised than that of most macropodoids. It is primarily a browser, gaining sustenance from grass, leaves, sedges and succulent plants.

Macropod gallery – click and scroll

Black & White
Fine Art Photography

My very early fascination with photography was entirely black and white. I loved the darkroom, which, in those days of shooting film, every serious photographer did. My initial introduction was through street photography. Later, I took my black-and-white film underwater. As the submarine world began to interest me more, I was drawn to colour film. Now, all these decades later, I’m magnetically drawn back to the world of black and white as a creative expression. I find many images have a louder voice when expressed in black and white. In a decor setting, especially for occupants who appreciate a minimalistic approach to interior design, this medium shines. 

Above left: ‘Artful Pose’ – Framed by freshwater mangroves a glossy ibis takes an artful pose while preening. Kakadu National Park and freshwater mangrove, Northern Territory.

Centre: ‘ State Of Play’ – As both naturalist and artist, emotional connection with nature is what drives me. Moments in time, like this spoonbill’s preening contortions, are what I strive to capture as writer and photographer. In this instance, the initial capture was driven more by the naturalist within however this creative expression is all about play. A state of play is where I reside when the ‘artist within’ takes over and this is what this montage is about. Royal Spoonbill preening. River Murray National Park, South Australia.

Above Right: ‘Artful Poise’ – Choose your word: grace, smoothness; taste, tastefulness, discernment, refinement, sophistication, dignity, distinction, propriety, poise, finesse, beauty, charm, polish, suaveness, panache, flair, sumptuousness, opulence, grandeur, exquisiteness; words that are descriptive of this beautiful bird in such an artful pose.  River Murray National Park, South Australia.

A graphic interpretation of the form and design of the zebra lionfish. I wanted to draw attention to its ability to all but disappear in its coral habitat through the cryptic body pattern designs benefiting the fishes behaviour as a lurking carnivore.

The interrelations between the living and non-living elements in any ecosystem are a great source of fuel for any creative soul regardless of medium. I have revelled on the many ecological and, in this case artistic, relationships for many years and find the challenges, wins, and losses, both constant and enriching. I see the content of this digital charcoal sketch – something I like to do when I am feeling particularly playful – as a triangle between the tree, the rock, and my own emotions; in this trilogy, the ‘oneness’.

Barn owls specialise in hunting animals on the ground and nearly all of their food consists of small mammals which they locate by sound, their hearing being very acute. When in flight they are completely silent. They mate for life unless one of the pair gets killed.

Trusting our inner voice can be an ultimate challenge for those of us in pursuit of a holistic life. In nature, there are many metaphors. The reef heron may remain completely still for hours waiting for the tide to bring food within striking range. Just before striking you can see the bird ever so gently rocks its body back and forth from left to right, while the head remains completely still. It is though it is considering options. Then, having learned over time through trial and error, the bird strikes with alarming speed. When a strike is unsuccessful, the birds repeat the activity until success is assured. Over, and over, and over, if necessary. If it gives up, it is dead!

Strangler fig in a temperate rainforest near my home on the Blackall Ranges south-east Queensland.

The filling of Lake Eyre draws people globally to witness the amazing transformation of parched dry land into an oasis of colour and life. Lake Eyre’s east coast, Kati Thanda-Lake Eyre National Park, South Australia

Above, top to bottom: A trilogy of images from the world of mud and mangroves.

‘Twists and Turns’ – The red mangrove, Rhizophora mangle, grows on aerial prop roots, which arch above the water level, giving stands of this tree the characteristic “mangrove” appearance. Through stabilisation of their surroundings, mangroves create a community for other plants and animals such as the mangrove crab and a multitude of fishes.
I find the artful twists and turns of this important and distinctive tree irresistible as subjects. Cape Tribulation, Daintree National Park, Queensland.

‘Saltwater Crocodile’ – Saltwater crocodiles are the largest extant riparian predators in the world. The largest recorded was a male which measured 6.2 metres. I find them awe-inspiring, however, I do accept they are potentially hazardous creatures.

‘The Edge’ – Mudflats and mangroves King Sound Kimberley coast Western Australia.

Photography: A Pathway to Purpose is a program designed to explore a comprehensive range of tools for developing, expressing and communicating your unique creative voice.  Module 5 The Digital Darkroom, explores the processes of developing and expressing your own digital art atyle.

Art at my Feet

‘As soon as I let go of my obsession with results,
I’m transported to a world of pure fun and delight.
It’s a state of being where happiness reigns supreme,
and I feel truly alive.’   – Steve Parish

When it comes to fine art photography, as opposed to representational photography, I have always regarded traditional physical art as soul food. There have been many artists who have inspired me, but my primary motivator was Desiderius Orban. Having spent time in Paris, Orban was influenced by Henri Matisse, Paul Cezanne, and Vincent van Gogh, although he also spent time with Pablo Picasso and Amedeo Modigliani. Orban introduced cubism, expressionism, and Fauvism to Hungary.

In 1976, the late artist, teacher, and close friend Dr. Irene Amos introduced me to the teachings of Desiderius Orban through his life-changing book, “What Is Art All About?” Like Irene, Orban believed that art was more about subconscious play. Although I carried these views for decades, it was not until 2015 that I found the time and passionate desire to make creative changes. When I finally awakened the artist within, I found that I leaned heavily towards creating abstracts.

In his book, Orban reveals that his artistic awakening occurred at the age of 80. It is wonderful that a simple little book can influence how one sees and, more importantly, feels about the creative process. I do not often consume books that focus on other artists’ views, preferring to develop my own. However, Orban’s writings are compelling. I highlighted many passages, and this little book became one of my dearest possessions. Although I never met Orban in person, I often hugged him in my dreams for providing me with the inspiration and courage to become playfully creative in my work.

Above:   ‘Tenacity’  –  This wind-blown little tea tree, rugged and determined, had grown almost horizontally to the ground, sending its roots on what one could only describe as a horizontal journey for survival. What an excellent metaphor for life’s journey, reminding us that while humans crave certainty, true certainty doesn’t exist; it is an illusion. Only a willingness to embrace change and a conscious effort to remain open to life’s challenges enable a moderate chance of survival.

In 2019, the Kangaroo Island wildfires burnt the entire region, but the good news is that the wind-swept tea trees are returning. I could not think of a better nature metaphor for the challenges we humans face throughout our lives. You can lose everything you own, but you cannot lose who you are.

Below:  ‘Life Cycle II’  –  Fallen fruits and leaves form their own artworks across the rainforest floor. Daintree National Park, Queensland.

“Art beneath my feet” is a project that has absorbed me for over thirty years. The idea came from Orban’s book. As an art teacher, he used the forest floor to teach his art students how to see and express the world around them. He placed an empty picture frame on the forest floor and asked them to draw what they saw within it.
Through this exercise, his students learned to connect with their artistic souls and see the world in a new way, even while walking in the woods. This inspired me to create my own collection of such scenes, which I now use in workshops. Many of my own students have since taken up “art at their feet” as an ongoing project.

‘Treasure I, II’ and ‘Walking Tidelines’

Sand between toes, warm breeze on bare skin, the smell of salty air, sea-sounds that surround while wandering tidelines with an artist’s eye. Embraced by millions, this activity is sure to take your ‘thinking mind’ far away from the past and future, into what is now – the present moment where artful imaginings wait ever patiently for that magic moment to break free.

Top: ‘Treasure’  –  Sea coast Lincoln National Park, Eyre Peninsula, South Australia
Centre: ‘Treasure II’  –  Sea coast Lincoln National Park, Eyre Peninsula, South Australia
Bottom: ‘Walking Tidelines’  –  Tarkine Coast, Tasmania

‘Walking Tidelines III’ and IV’ and ‘The Loney Sailor’

Walking tide-lines searching for one-living treasure is a pastime embraced globally, and I consider it fantastic for our mental health. Isolated windswept wilderness beaches are richly rewarding.

‘Raindrops are Falling’ and ‘Light as a Feather’

Left: ‘Raindrops are Falling’ – Floating feather, Swains Reef, Queensland.
Right: ‘Light as a Feather’ – Feather on a pond, Brisbane.

‘Recycling’ and ‘Reaching for Light’

Left: ‘Recycling’ – Fig tree buttress and fallen leaves.
Right: ‘Reaching for Light –  Rainforest undergrowth.

‘Special Schools’

Beneath the eucalyptus trees, down among the fallen leaves and branches,
a silent, shuffling shape goes searching,
leaving telltale traces only for those with time and lots of patience,
who have been to special schools to learn to see. 

‘Mulga Woodland’

Mulga brush and wildflowers Morawa, Western Australia.

‘Illawarra Flame II”

Leaf and flower litter from the Illawarra flame tree, is a large tree of the family Malvaceae
native to subtropical regions on the east coast of Australia.

‘The Struggle’

A tea tree struggles to flourish in the strong, salt-laden winds of the southwest coast of Western Australia at spectacular Cape Le Grand National Park.

‘Jasper Art’

‘Changing Seasons’

Fallen flowers from a Brachychiton (kurrajong, bottletree) carpet the forest floor. The name Brachychiton is derived from the Greek brachys, short, and chiton, tunic, in referring to its loose seed coats. Kurrajong comes from Dharuk garrajuŋ “fishing line”, as First Nations People created fishing lines were made from kurrajong bark.

‘Dancing Lightly’

Carpeting wildflowers, Morawa Western Australia.

‘Ice Art’

Grass in Ice, Kosciuszko National Park, New South Wales

‘My Beating Heart’

The artful contortions of fig tree roots wrapping around a sandstone boulder inspired me to think of my beating heart. King George River region coastal Kimberley Western Australia.

‘New Life’

Deep in a rainforest, from beneath a decaying forest floor, new life emerges.