I arrived at The Corridor Project with an interest in looking closely not only at the landscape, but into it.

For some time, my work has been shaped by the idea that the body and nature mirror each other, that landscape as a whole can be understood as a living organism. A body with its own textures, rhythms, wounds, layers and forms.  During this residency, I wanted to spend time with that idea in a direct and physical way.

The place itself offered a language before I even began working. The old shed, with its corrugated metal walls, exposed timber beams and uneven light, held a strong sense of history. It felt weathered but alive. The surfaces carried time, smells, scratches, stains, rust, dust, and shadows. Nothing felt neutral. Everything seemed to hold a trace. I couldn't help but think of all the great artists who have been there before me and felt the same way.

I was particularly drawn to a large boulder covered in moss resembling large ultrasound echoes, giving the mountain a special meaning.  Looking closely, the moss itself carried a cellular appearance. It reminded me of microscopic structures within the body; soft, dense, intricate systems growing in the spaces between things. These small interstitial worlds became an important point of departure for the works that followed.

Using charcoal 'frottage' directly over the moss-covered rock, I allowed the texture of the surface to transfer onto the canvas. The process felt less like drawing from the landscape and more like receiving from it. The marks were not invented; they were gathered. They came from pressure, contact, touch.

As the canvas developed, pathways began to appear. Some marks reminded me of medical recordings, in particular, the linear rhythm of M-mode ultrasound, where movement is traced through time. This connection felt like an extension of my previous work in De Rerum Natura, where I explored the relationship between medical imaging, nature and the hidden structures that connect living things. It also felt like a natural extension of my own health experiences. 

There was something moving about placing these marks inside the shed. The canvas hung against the corrugated wall, surrounded by timber, metal, dust and light. The work did not feel separate from the space. It belonged to the atmosphere around it. The shed became part of the image, and the image became part of the shed.

Other works emerged more quietly, through colour, atmosphere and memory. Some paintings held the muted greens, blues and purples of the surrounding landscape. Others carried the warmth of the earth and afternoon light. I kept returning to the idea of the palimpsest: a surface written over, erased, marked again, holding what came before, even when it is no longer fully visible.

This residency reminded me that place is not only something we observe. It is something we enter into. It leaves marks on us, just as we leave marks on it.

The Corridor Project offered me time to notice the small structures that often go unseen and the quiet spaces between surface and depth. These became a way of thinking about the body, too; about the microscopic, the interstitial, the almost invisible places where life continues to form and develop.

In the end, this visual journal is not a record of a finished outcome, but of an encounter. A conversation with place. A way of paying attention.

The land did not appear as landscape, but as a living surface that is layered, breathing, and quietly keeps track of time.