I’m in my studio in Naarm (Melbourne), on the unceded lands of the Bunurong Boon Wurrung and Wurundjeri Woi Wurrung peoples of the Eastern Kulin Nation. It’s inside an old boot factory in Collingwood.

I’m in the research stage of a few new bodies of work—this can take months or years. [Recently], my practice has centred on the exploration of Aboriginal Words and Place Names by A.W. Reed. This book is a problematic ‘dictionary’ that reduces over 250 diverse Indigenous languages into a list of disconnected words, devoid of their cultural and geographical significance. In my new body of work, I’ll address another problematic work by A.W. Reed: Aboriginal Myths and Legends. It continues Reed's approach of simplifying and distorting the richness of First Nations myths and legends, stripping them of their cultural nuances and significance. I’m deep in research on how to transform this fraudulent book into work that tells the story of the Poinciana Woman, a legend deeply rooted in Larrakia culture which prevails in Darwin today. I want the audience to embody this story through a multisensory space: an installation of transformed paper, light, sound and moving image projections.

I thought of a small world-shaped object that had been gathering dust in my studio. My work alters this globe-shaped piece of silverware, whose original function was to serve caviar. I was interested in taking an object that was designed to serve, known for being the epitome of ‘high class’ and thinking about what I find precious, changing its function.

I restored the piece with a few hours of polishing, then beaded a piece of silk thread and attached a serving spoon to the caviar dish’s base. I wanted to suggest … there’s something inside to be gathered. I wove a coiled insert made from pages of Aboriginal Words and Place Names. Using glass beads and a large freshwater pearl, I adorned the woven paper, elevating this ‘common’ material. This created a … a second ‘lid’ for which there was now a hidden space I could choose to place something deeply important to me: a small piece of Larrakia white ochre I collected on Country. This small chalky rock has been sealed with a red knot—representing a gift—to signify that it’s precious.

The final layer is a pair of white archival gloves, adorned and altered to match the piece. [They’re[ worn when handling to prevent silver tarnishing and signify, when the work is displayed, that it’s meant to be touched and experienced.

For me, red signifies blood—not in a violent sense, but as a symbol of blood ties. Culturally, it holds great significance in Larrakia women's customs, is prominently featured in the Aboriginal flag, and resonates in Japanese and Chinese folklore about red threads and represents luck. Additionally, considering my Mum's Scottish ancestry, the family tartan with its red lines adds another layer of connection.

In my work, red often takes on the role of correction, as though physically editing books with a red pen. I frequently use calligraphy ink to keep the materiality related to acts of alteration and rewriting. The intention is to maintain a connection to the original material while meaningfully transforming it.