The land opens in long, breathing layers, each band of color a quiet sentence spoken by distance. Rust and gold roll forward from the mountains’ feet, softening into greens and pale light, as if the earth were remembering warmer days beneath the weight of sky. Above, the peaks rise cool and patient, brushed with ash-blue and silver, their edges dissolving into cloud and weather.
A river of shadow slips through the valley, subtle and searching, stitching the far and near together. The foreground glows with unexpected warmth—reds and pinks pressed into the ground like embers under grass—suggesting life that persists even in wide, empty spaces. Nothing here feels hurried. The air seems thin but generous, carrying silence rather than sound.
This is a place shaped by time more than touch, where seasons pass like slow thoughts, and colour does the work of memory. The painting does not ask to be entered; it asks to be breathed, held gently, and allowed to stretch the mind.
Port Macquarie NSW