ROOTS
ROOTS
ROOTS
ROOTS
artist you've become today?
Probably the amount of moving I've done. Not just living between Malaysia and Australia, but all the travelling in between. I think when you move through that many places, you develop a different relationship to landscape. I didn't train formally as an artist, so a lot of what shaped me happened outside a studio entirely, just paying attention to terrain, to what a place feels like versus what it looks like.
2. Has there been a season of your life that completely changed the way you create?
Becoming a mother, without question. It didn't just change how much time I have. It changed the pace I work at, and strangely, the work is better for it.
Probably the amount of moving I've done. Not just living between Malaysia and Australia, but all the travelling in between. I think when you move through that many places, you develop a different relationship to landscape. I didn't train formally as an artist, so a lot of what shaped me happened outside a studio entirely, just paying attention to terrain, to what a place feels like versus what it looks like.
2. Has there been a season of your life that completely changed the way you create?
Becoming a mother, without question. It didn't just change how much time I have. It changed the pace I work at, and strangely, the work is better for it.
do you think quietly shaped the artist you've become today?
Probably the amount of moving I've done. Not just living between Malaysia and Australia, but all the travelling in between. I think when you move through that many places, you develop a different relationship to landscape. I didn't train formally as an artist, so a lot of what shaped me happened outside a studio entirely, just paying attention to terrain, to what a place feels like versus what it looks like.
2. Has there been a season of your life that completely changed the way you create?
Becoming a mother, without question. It didn't just change how much time I have. It changed the pace I work at, and strangely, the work is better for it.
Probably the amount of moving I've done. Not just living between Malaysia and Australia, but all the travelling in between. I think when you move through that many places, you develop a different relationship to landscape. I didn't train formally as an artist, so a lot of what shaped me happened outside a studio entirely, just paying attention to terrain, to what a place feels like versus what it looks like.
2. Has there been a season of your life that completely changed the way you create?
Becoming a mother, without question. It didn't just change how much time I have. It changed the pace I work at, and strangely, the work is better for it.
PROCESS
PROCESS
PROCESS
PROCESS
reveal themselves over time?
Slowly, almost always. I rarely start with a finished idea. I start with a material instinct, a colour, a texture I want to chase, and the idea reveals itself through the layering.
of a painting, from the very first thought to
the first mark on the canvas?
It usually starts with a place I can't stop thinking about, a stretch of coastline, the way tidal flats look right after the water's pulled back, sometimes a landscape I'm imagining from above rather than standing in. I sit with that image for a while before I touch the canvas. The first mark is usually plaster, laid down to build the ground the rest of the painting will sit on.
Slowly, almost always. I rarely start with a finished idea. I start with a material instinct, a colour, a texture I want to chase, and the idea reveals itself through the layering.
It usually starts with a place I can't stop thinking about, a stretch of coastline, the way tidal flats look right after the water's pulled back, sometimes a landscape I'm imagining from above rather than standing in. I sit with that image for a while before I touch the canvas. The first mark is usually plaster, laid down to build the ground the rest of the painting will sit on.
they slowly reveal themselves over time?
Slowly, almost always. I rarely start with a finished idea. I start with a material instinct, a colour, a texture I want to chase, and the idea reveals itself through the layering.
reveal themselves over time?
Slowly, almost always. I rarely start with a finished idea. I start with a material instinct, a colour, a texture I want to chase, and the idea reveals itself through the layering.
of a painting, from the very first thought to
the first mark on the canvas?
It usually starts with a place I can't stop thinking about, a stretch of coastline, the way tidal flats look right after the water's pulled back, sometimes a landscape I'm imagining from above rather than standing in. I sit with that image for a while before I touch the canvas. The first mark is usually plaster, laid down to build the ground the rest of the painting will sit on.
5. How do you know when to stop adding rather than keep refining?
When the surface stops asking for anything. There's a point where another layer would just be decoration, not information, and I've learned to feel that line rather than think my way to it.
6. If someone watched you work for an entire day without speaking, what do you think would
surprise them most?
It really depends on what stage I'm at in a painting. But often, very little of it looks like painting at all. Depending on the stage, a lot of the day is just building the texture and the base, waiting for it to dry, or staring at a canvas long before any paint goes down. There's also a surprising amount of art admin that goes into the life of an artist!
7. Outside of painting itself, what has been the biggest lesson in building a sustainable creative
practice?
That constraint isn't the enemy of the work. My time is limited now in a way it never used to be, and instead of that shrinking the practice, it's made me more intentional. Every hour in the studio has to count, so I'm more deliberate about what I'm making and why.
5. How do you know when to stop adding rather than keep refining?
When the surface stops asking for anything. There's a point where another layer would just be decoration, not information, and I've learned to feel that line rather than think my way to it.
6. If someone watched you work for an entire day without speaking, what do you think would surprise them most?
It really depends on what stage I'm at in a painting. But often, very little of it looks like painting at all. Depending on the stage, a lot of the day is just building the texture and the base, waiting for it to dry, or staring at a canvas long before any paint goes down. There's also a surprising amount of art admin that goes into the life of an artist!
7. Outside of painting itself, what has been the biggest lesson in building a sustainable creative practice?
That constraint isn't the enemy of the work. My time is limited now in a way it never used to be, and instead of that shrinking the practice, it's made me more intentional. Every hour in the studio has to count, so I'm more deliberate about what I'm making and why.
8. Texture has become such a defining part of your work. What does texture allow you to communicate that paint alone can't?
Time. A flat painted surface shows you a moment. A layered, textured surface shows you a process, you can see the history of the thing, the way you can see it in a cliff face or a riverbed. That's the whole point for me. Land isn't painted, it's built. I want the surface to carry that same evidence.
It usually starts with a place I can't stop thinking about, a stretch of coastline, the way tidal flats look right after the water's pulled back, sometimes a landscape I'm imagining from above rather than standing in. I sit with that image for a while before I touch the canvas. The first mark is usually plaster, laid down to build the ground the rest of the painting will sit on.
5. How do you know when to stop adding rather than keep refining?
When the surface stops asking for anything. There's a point where another layer would just be decoration, not information, and I've learned to feel that line rather than think my way to it.
6. If someone watched you work for an entire day without speaking, what do you think would surprise them most?
It really depends on what stage I'm at in a painting. But often, very little of it looks like painting at all. Depending on the stage, a lot of the day is just building the texture and the base, waiting for it to dry, or staring at a canvas long before any paint goes down. There's also a surprising amount of art admin that goes into the life of an artist!
7. Outside of painting itself, what has been the biggest lesson in building a sustainable creative practice?
That constraint isn't the enemy of the work. My time is limited now in a way it never used to be, and instead of that shrinking the practice, it's made me more intentional. Every hour in the studio has to count, so I'm more deliberate about what I'm making and why.
5. How do you know when to stop adding rather than keep refining?
When the surface stops asking for anything. There's a point where another layer would just be decoration, not information, and I've learned to feel that line rather than think my way to it.
6. If someone watched you work for an entire day without speaking, what do you think would
surprise them most?
It really depends on what stage I'm at in a painting. But often, very little of it looks like painting at all. Depending on the stage, a lot of the day is just building the texture and the base, waiting for it to dry, or staring at a canvas long before any paint goes down. There's also a surprising amount of art admin that goes into the life of an artist!
7. Outside of painting itself, what has been the biggest lesson in building a sustainable creative
practice?
That constraint isn't the enemy of the work. My time is limited now in a way it never used to be, and instead of that shrinking the practice, it's made me more intentional. Every hour in the studio has to count, so I'm more deliberate about what I'm making and why.
8. Texture has become such a defining part of your work. What does texture allow you to
communicate that paint alone can't?
Time. A flat painted surface shows you a moment. A layered, textured surface shows you a process, you can see the history of the thing, the way you can see it in a cliff face or a riverbed. That's the whole point for me. Land isn't painted, it's built. I want the surface to carry that same evidence.
8. Texture has become such a defining part of your work. What does
texture allow you to communicate that paint alone can't?
Time. A flat painted surface shows you a moment. A layered, textured surface shows you a process, you can see the history of the thing, the way you can see it in a cliff face or a riverbed. That's the whole point for me. Land isn't painted, it's built. I want the surface to carry that same evidence.
8. Texture has become such a defining part of your work. What does texture allow you to
communicate that paint alone can't?
Time. A flat painted surface shows you a moment. A layered, textured surface shows you a process, you can see the history of the thing, the way you can see it in a cliff face or a riverbed. That's the whole point for me. Land isn't painted, it's built. I want the surface to carry that same evidence.
LIFE
LIFE
LIFE
LIFE
9. How has becoming a mother changed your relationship with creating?
It's made the work more urgent and more honest, oddly. I don't have time to overthink a piece anymore, so what comes out tends to be closer to what I actually mean.
10. You're balancing family life with a creative practice. Have those two worlds made each other
stronger?
Definitely. Motherhood has stripped things back to what actually matters, and that's changed how I create as much as it's changed how I live. I'm less precious about the things that don't count and more present for the things that do, and that shows up directly in the studio.
11. Outside the studio, what fills your creative cup?
Just being in nature. Walking in the park, noticing the colour on a tree bark or walking on the beach, noticing light on water. Travelling to a rugged landscape is what I love most as I get to discover colours, patterns and terrain that are completely new.
9. How has becoming a mother changed your relationship with creating?
It's made the work more urgent and more honest, oddly. I don't have time to overthink a piece anymore, so what comes out tends to be closer to what I actually mean.
10. You're balancing family life with a creative practice. Have those two worlds made each other
stronger?
Definitely. Motherhood has stripped things back to what actually matters, and that's changed how I create as much as it's changed how I live. I'm less precious about the things that don't count and more present for the things that do, and that shows up directly in the studio.
11. Outside the studio, what fills your creative cup?
Just being in nature. Walking in the park, noticing the colour on a tree bark or walking on the beach, noticing light on water. Travelling to a rugged landscape is what I love most as I get to discover colours, patterns and terrain that are completely new.
9. How has becoming a mother changed your relationship with creating?
It's made the work more urgent and more honest, oddly. I don't have time to overthink a piece anymore, so what comes out tends to be closer to what I actually mean.
10. You're balancing family life with a creative practice. Have those two worlds made each other stronger?
Definitely. Motherhood has stripped things back to what actually matters, and that's changed how I create as much as it's changed how I live. I'm less precious about the things that don't count and more present for the things that do, and that shows up directly in the studio.
11. Outside the studio, what fills your creative cup?
Just being in nature. Walking in the park, noticing the colour on a tree bark or walking on the beach, noticing light on water. Travelling to a rugged landscape is what I love most as I get to discover colours, patterns and terrain that are completely new.
9. How has becoming a mother changed your relationship with creating?
It's made the work more urgent and more honest, oddly. I don't have time to overthink a piece anymore, so what comes out tends to be closer to what I actually mean.
10. You're balancing family life with a creative practice. Have those two worlds made each other stronger?
Definitely. Motherhood has stripped things back to what actually matters, and that's changed how I create as much as it's changed how I live. I'm less precious about the things that don't count and more present for the things that do, and that shows up directly in the studio.
11. Outside the studio, what fills your creative cup?
Just being in nature. Walking in the park, noticing the colour on a tree bark or walking on the beach, noticing light on water. Travelling to a rugged landscape is what I love most as I get to discover colours, patterns and terrain that are completely new.
TASTE
TASTE
TASTE
TASTE
12. Your work feels unmistakably yours. How did you learn to trust your own taste over outside opinions?
I've always known what I wanted, even before I had the words for it. The real shift was realising I make art for myself, not to please anyone else. Once I stopped painting toward an outside opinion, trusting my own taste stopped being a question.
13. What makes you instantly fall in love with a piece of art, object or space?
Something that touches identity or memory. I'm moved the same way I hope my collectors are moved by my own work, by something that echoes what they identify with, or resonates with them, even if they can't immediately place why.
12. Your work feels unmistakably yours. How did you learn to trust your own taste over outside opinions?
I've always known what I wanted, even before I had the words for it. The real shift was realising I make art for myself, not to please anyone else. Once I stopped painting toward an outside opinion, trusting my own taste stopped being a question.
13. What makes you instantly fall in love with a piece of art, object or space?
Something that touches identity or memory. I'm moved the same way I hope my collectors are moved by my own work, by something that echoes what they identify with, or resonates with them, even if they can't immediately place why.
12. Your work feels unmistakably yours. How did you learn to trust your own taste over outside opinions?
I've always known what I wanted, even before I had the words for it. The real shift was realising I make art for myself, not to please anyone else. Once I stopped painting toward an outside opinion, trusting my own taste stopped being a question.
13. What makes you instantly fall in love with a piece of art, object or space?
Something that touches identity or memory. I'm moved the same way I hope my collectors are moved by my own work, by something that echoes what they identify with, or resonates with them, even if they can't immediately place why.
12. Your work feels unmistakably yours. How did you learn to trust your own taste over outside opinions?
I've always known what I wanted, even before I had the words for it. The real shift was realising I make art for myself, not to please anyone else. Once I stopped painting toward an outside opinion, trusting my own taste stopped being a question.
13. What makes you instantly fall in love with a piece of art, object or space?
Something that touches identity or memory. I'm moved the same way I hope my collectors are moved by my own work, by something that echoes what they identify with, or resonates with them, even if they can't immediately place why.
LEGACY
LEGACY
LEGACY
LEGACY
14. As our newest Tastemaker, what legacy do you hope to create through your art?
I'd like the work to stand as a record of a particular way of seeing terrain, not scenery, but land as something lived through. If it holds up as honest rather than trend-led, that's the legacy I'd want.
15. When someone lives with one of your paintings for twenty years, what do you hope it continues to offer them?
That it keeps bringing them back.
“Most people connect a piece to a specific memory when they first bring it home, a place, a moment, a version of themselves. I'd want the painting to hold that memory rather than let it fade, so twenty years on they can still return to it, and relive that moment each time they look at it.”
14. As our newest Tastemaker, what legacy do you hope to create through your art?
I'd like the work to stand as a record of a particular way of seeing terrain, not scenery, but land as something lived through. If it holds up as honest rather than trend-led, that's the legacy I'd want.
15. When someone lives with one of your paintings for twenty years, what do you hope it continues to offer them?
That it keeps bringing them back.
“Most people connect a piece to a specific memory when they first bring it home, a place, a moment, a version of themselves. I'd want the painting to hold that memory rather than let it fade, so twenty years on they can still return to it, and relive that moment each time they look at it.”
14. As our newest Tastemaker, what legacy do you hope to create through
your art?
I'd like the work to stand as a record of a particular way of seeing terrain, not scenery, but land as something lived through. If it holds up as honest rather than trend-led, that's the legacy I'd want.
15. When someone lives with one of your paintings for twenty years, what
do you hope it continues to offer them?
That it keeps bringing them back.
“Most people connect a piece to a specific memory when they first bring it home, a place, a moment, a version of themselves. I'd want the painting to hold that memory rather than let it fade, so twenty years on they can still return to it, and relive that moment each time they look at it.”
14. As our newest Tastemaker, what legacy do you hope to create through your art?
I'd like the work to stand as a record of a particular way of seeing terrain, not scenery, but land as something lived through. If it holds up as honest rather than trend-led, that's the legacy I'd want.
15. When someone lives with one of your paintings for twenty years, what do you hope it continues to offer them?
That it keeps bringing them back.
“Most people connect a piece to a specific memory when they first bring it home, a place, a moment, a version of themselves. I'd want the painting to hold that memory rather than let it fade, so twenty years on they can still return to it, and relive that moment each time they look at it.”
Every new beginning starts long before the doors open. As we begin creating our new home, we'd like to share a glimpse of the inspiration and atmosphere behind what's to come.
For us, home has always been more than a place. It's about creating spaces that feel warm and deeply connected to everyday life. Places where furniture isn't simply displayed, but thoughtfully within a space that invite you to slow down, gather and feel at home.
These moments are a reflection of the feeling we're hoping to create. To bring this vision to life, we collaborated with Effy Harvard, whose presence helped shape the quiet rhythm and intimacy of the film. Together, we wanted to capture more than a space, we wanted to capture a feeling of home.
The Film
The Film
To accompany this new chapter, we created a short film that explores the feeling behind our move to Austin. Rather than telling the story through words alone, it invites you to experience it through light, movement, texture, and the rituals of everyday living. Featuring Effy Harvard, the film reflects the warmth, calm, and lived-in atmosphere we're looking forward to bringing into our future gallery.
To accompany this new chapter, we created a short film that explores the feeling behind our move to Austin. Rather than telling the story through words alone, it invites you to experience it through light, movement, texture, and the rituals of everyday living. Featuring Effy Harvard, the film reflects the warmth, calm, and lived-in atmosphere we're looking forward to bringing into our future gallery.
Film Credits
Film Credits
Written & Directed by Steffanie Ball
Talent Effy Harvard
Videographer José Rodríguez
Production Coordinator Katia Popova
Wardrobe Stylist Brooke Wise
Talent Management Reid Perry
Furniture installation Matt Ball
Post-production Gabriela Rios
Written & Directed by Steffanie Ball
Talent Effy Harvard
Videographer José Rodríguez
Production Coordinator Katia Popova
Wardrobe Stylist Brooke Wise
Talent Management Reid Perry
Furniture installation Matt Ball
Post-production Gabriela Rios
Music:
“Cowboy Season”
by Effy Harvard
