Tree Root Systems - An inspiration.

'I love trees’ is a bit of an understatement and, well, a tad misleading, as it is actually tree root systems I love. However, I didn’t want to open with “I love tree roots” as it sounds a bit sus.

Tree root systems — especially those of the South East Queensland strangler fig, or Ficus watkinsiana if you’re an arboriculturist nerd — are fascinating to me. Not only do they murder other trees (“COOL!” says 10-year-old me), but the way they do it creates some truly inspirational organic forms which have become a heavy influence on my art style.

I have spent quite a bit of time walking and hiking in forests, admiring these alien giants — observing them, taking photos, and sometimes bringing a sketchbook to jot down shapes and forms.

It’s the way they flow, the way they climb and twist around the host tree — it’s like nothing else in the forest. They have a certain life to them beyond simply being a tree: like muscle, like tentacles, as if they have skin, tendons and blood flowing beneath, breathing and moving like some kind of ancient creature lying dormant in the forest.

But it’s not only strangler figs. I’m equally drawn to trees that are knurled and beaten by the environment — like those in our local creek system in Samford Valley. The area floods, and the water can rise several metres above the regular stream height, inflicting serious damage on a particular group of trees. I frequent this spot often, drawing sections of stripped bark and exposed root systems, observing how light interacts with the pitted surfaces where bark has been sheared away by floodwaters.

Strangler figs aren’t confined to the outskirts of Brisbane either — they’re everywhere in and around the city. Some have even been integrated into children’s playgrounds, like in New Farm Park and South Bank Parklands — the latter forming the inspiration for my Southern Forest piece featured in the 2025 Ipswich Art Awards. (Below)

These playground trees have immense character. They bear the scars of years of children climbing in, on and around them — some even covered in initials and slogans carved into their surface. I’m a sucker for texture. Over the years I’ve collected hundreds of photos of textured surfaces.

Trees in general, for me, are inspirational — a source of magic, fantasy and wonder — but also a place to collect thoughts. I love walking in forests, even taking multi-day hikes by myself, listening and watching. It’s amazing what you see when you sit still and quiet for five minutes. The hidden creatures begin to re-emerge from their hiding places. I once had a green tree frog appear at my feet while I was drawing a root system, as if it had popped in to see what I was up to.

We have a giant gum tree in the backyard that I can see from the bed with the blinds open. It’s here that I solve a lot of problems in my head — thinking through story ideas or reading a book. I watch the leaves and branches sway in the breeze, clouds shifting behind it and creating ever-changing backdrops. Birds come and go — crows, butcherbirds and kookaburras eyeing off food in the afternoon. Sometimes I even fall asleep watching the gum tree… though, to be fair, I am lying on a bed.

I’m not sure exactly why I’m drawn to them. There’s a sense of connection I can’t fully explain.

I gravitate toward forested areas and mountains. Even though I’ve spent much of my life in the city, I’m always heading out to what’s left of the forests and parklands — walking, riding my bike, wandering. It’s where I feel most at peace, and where a lot of my crazier ideas seem to surface.

Some people are coastal. Some are rural.

For me, I’m definitely at home in a forest, and I guess that’s why it’s so heavily reflected in my artwork.