Archibald 2010 – Finalist
Unleashed in quiet revelation – the silence breaks, and he begins.

Archibald 2010– Finalist
Unleashed in quiet revelation – the silence breaks, and he begins.

Works On Paper Art Prize 2009 – Winner
Lifted by memory, he dreams of flight where silence once ruled.

It is not the man who cries – it is the wall that breaks.

She doesn’t reach for light – she receives it.
Grace, simply felt.

She leans into the breeze – not chasing, just receiving.

Waverley Arts Show 2010 – Judge's Award
He tilts toward silence, while the world spins.

He stands below the storm – not beneath it.
It howls. He defies.

He breaths. Not to hold on, but to let go –
into the quiet unknown.

He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to.
The garden whispers in a language only his skin remembers.

For the boat people. For the memory.
For the survival.

He misses the earth. So the dream gives him mountains.

In this moment, nothing exists but trust and tenderness.

Dad. After dialysis. Two weeks before goodbye – after ten years of quiet fight.

Dad. One week before goodbye. His features loosened, colour deepened – presence quietly slipping away.

Dad. Six days before goodbye. His gaze unsettled, his mouth slack – gravity deepened. The fight was fading. He was beginning to let go.

Stillness settled. His face darkened, muscles slackened, breath assisted. Blood pressure fell to ten. No movement for hours. The nurses and doctor came quietly. We watched, helpless, as the body prepared to release.

His breath, visible. His bones, revealed. The mask, the tube – alien scaffolding around a face I knew. Gravity pulled at his skin, but peace had returned. No frown. No fight. Just stillness, and the soft clarity of goodbye.

Light touched him for the last time. The darkness softened – no longer a threat, just a quiet companion. His right eye tried to open, almost. I felt it. I saw the peace settle in. A face I knew, a face I didn’t. Familiar. Strange. Final.

Three drawings, side by side, held in a glass case – like a coffin made of light. Not framed or hung, but laid gently, as if still breathing. This is how I saw him when he said goodbye: tender, dignified, whole. A way to keep him close. A way to say: he mattered. He still does.