Art has always been part of my daily life. Growing up with parents who were artists, there was always a fish skeleton, bumblebee, or plant specimen on the windowsill waiting to be sketched or sculpted. One of my mother’s many talents was as a bird whisperer—children in the neighbourhood would often bring her injured or orphaned birds they found. When these didn’t survive, they were put in our fridge or freezer, for drawing later. It was only the reactions of my school friends that made me realise this was unusual.

Many of my parents’ closest friends were artists—actors, directors, painters, sculptors, woodworkers, musicians, chefs. As a child, I benefitted hugely from watching their practice—whether it was memorising King Lear lines in the corner of our living room, preparing canvasses, or slab-milling timber for woodwork. I saw an unshakable commitment to their own artistic development, an ethic of care for the materials and tools they used, and the keenness with which they observed the natural, spiritual, and political worlds around them.

In my own work I draw inspiration from many sources: my work in human rights; the landscapes of Indonesia where I lived and worked for six years; the geomorphic forms and palette of the glaciers, mountains, and coastlines of Aotearoa; and modernist architecture and design.