Year - 2026 · Size - 30 x 21 cm / 11¾ x 8¼ in · Medium - Ink on paper

After a reconnaissance mission to the You Yangs the week before I decided it was worthy of at least one painting. Approaching Flinders Peak from the east, a huge exposed granite feature two thirds of the way up the mountain beckoned. Taking advantage of the winter snakes hibernating, I began bushbashing my way up a boulder-laden ridgeline, pushing through thickets of boneseed — a noxious weed that has made itself very much at home in the You Yangs.

As I climbed, a chopper flew overhead rounding the peak heading west. It was only higher up that I realised its likely purpose — to take an aerial view of the Bunjil geoglyph below in the valley, a collection of granite boulders that from the ground appears unremarkable but from above forms the unmistakable outline of a wedge-tailed eagle.

In the rocky terrain of the ridge I came across the skull of a feral goat, complete with horns — a fitting companion for an artwork hunter in rocky terrain, it went straight into my bag.

Soon I could hear voices and a pair of tourists wandered past on the path above, heading to the summit. As I crossed the beaten track a huge wall of granite loomed in undeniable invitation — a good ten to fifteen metres high, running up the slope for fifty metres or more, the rock shelf alongside stepping down in stages, with crevasses large enough in places to form small caves you could squeeze into.

At the base of one of these openings, out of the weather, sat an ornate wooden box. On top of it — an unused hand trowel, a candle holder, a book of meditation-themed crosswords and some incense sticks. The feeling that I had stumbled on someone's sacred space was immediate. And somehow, that confirmed I had found my spot too.

I headed down to the rock shelf below, made myself comfortable and looked out at the scene — whispering sheoaks loaded with nuts, two huge rock slabs sitting atop one another like a giant sandwich with a small spiny acacia growing from the top, the You Yangs range stretching north, and further still the outlook east across the patchwork of farmland, past Avalon Airport to the cargo ships almost floating in the air where Port Phillip Bay faded into the sky. I sat down to paint as a constant stream of tourists wandered past below, oblivious to my existence.