Ascension is new to the Sculpture Garden. Built from concrete with a patinated metal colouring.
The 2.4 meter high work  'Ascension' a female rising from a shell in a watery metal skin of bronze with dark blue water streaks and her white robe becoming a white wing shrouding her face as like a chrysalis emerging free from her shell.

Ascension: The Shell and the Shroud

In the depths where sunlight is only a rumor, there lay an ancient shell—vast, bronze, and silent. It shimmered like sunken treasure, streaked with dark blue veins of sleeping water, a relic that even whales dared not whisper about.
No one knew when the shell had formed, only that it pulsed faintly with the rhythm of the tides, like a heart learning to beat again.

Inside, curled in silence, was Ascension.

She was not born in the usual sense. She was shaped by pressure, time, and longing—a daughter of stillness and potential. Her skin shimmered like watery metal, her breath slower than seaweed’s sway. She wore a robe spun from seafoam and moonlight, wrapped tight like the hush before a storm.

For eons, she slumbered, dreaming of skies she'd never seen and wings she didn’t yet have.

Then one day, a curious vibration stirred the abyss. A song—soft and wordless—drifted down from above. It was the cry of a child laughing in the rain, the song of a bird flying too high, the ripple of hope in a drying stream.

The shell quivered.

The bronze cracked with a sigh, streaks of blue deepening like veins under skin. A single drop of silver fell from the center—a tear of joy, or perhaps farewell.

With the grace of a flower in slow bloom, Ascension rose.

Her robe, once bound tight, peeled open like a second skin. One edge curled upward, lightening to pearl-white. The other stretched wide, unfurling—not cloth anymore, but wing, soft and radiant, hiding her face like a secret not yet ready for the world.

Water dripped from her form in rivulets of bronze and indigo. She floated upward, slowly at first, then with gentle certainty, as though the ocean herself was lifting her toward the surface.

When she breached, the sky gasped.

Mist curled around her. Clouds hushed. Even the wind leaned in.

And still her face remained hidden beneath the winged shroud, a veil of mystery and power. Only those who had dreamed deeply of freedom could see her eyes—and those eyes, it is said, are reflections of the first light that ever touched the sea.

Now, in moments of quiet tide, when clouds break and gulls pause their flight, some say you can glimpse her—just for a heartbeat—rising still, forever becoming.

For Ascension is not just a name. She is a moment caught between shell and sky.
A becoming. A breaking. A beautiful, winged release.

Aqueous - 2024-25 Aluminium 2.2 meters H
In the time before clocks and calendars, when the world whispered rather than roared, there lived a spirit called Aqueous. Not born of sky or soil, Aqueous sprang from the first tear the Earth ever cried—an expression of joy when it saw life stirring on its skin.

Aqueous: Spirit of the Dancing Waters

In the time before clocks and calendars, when the world whispered rather than roared, there lived a spirit called Aqueous. Not born of sky or soil, Aqueous sprang from the first tear the Earth ever cried—an expression of joy when it saw life stirring on its skin.

Aqueous was not like other spirits who dwelled in forests or flames. No, Aqueous flowed. She could ripple through a puddle, twirl in a raindrop, or leap from a fountain with laughter that made frogs croak in harmony and lily pads shimmy with glee.

She had hair like mist, soft and swirling, and eyes that shimmered like moonlight on a still lake. When she walked, puddles appeared under her toes. When she slept (which was rare), dew would blanket the leaves in dreams.

Everywhere she went, she brought mischief and wonder. In the desert, she made mirages to tease the sun. In rivers, she tickled the bellies of fish until they hiccupped bubbles. In the mountains, she painted icicles with moonlight and taught glaciers to glide gracefully, like slow dancers in an ancient ballet.

But Aqueous had a secret mission, too. She was the keeper of Memory Wells, hidden pools where the water remembered everything it had ever touched. Each memory shimmered just below the surface—joy, sorrow, love, and even the echo of the first songs sung by whales. She would visit the wells nightly, stirring them gently with her fingers to keep the stories alive.

One day, a great drought swept across the land. The rivers grew sluggish. The clouds wandered lost. People began to forget what it felt like to dance in the rain. Aqueous, heart heavy, decided to do something she had never done before: she stopped moving.

She curled herself into the largest lake she could find and fell into a deep, still slumber. The silence was profound. Animals wept. Trees leaned forward, whispering her name in their leaves.

And then, something extraordinary happened.

Children, sensing the stillness, came with songs and laughter. They built little boats from bark and twigs, danced around the lake, and whispered their hopes into its mirrored surface. The lake began to shimmer. The wind returned. The sky, touched by their joy, wept tears of delight.

Aqueous awoke with a gasp—a thousand droplets leaping from the lake into the sky, becoming rain once more. She rose, swirling with joy, and scattered showers across the thirsty land.

Since then, wherever water moves playfully or mysteriously—be it a babbling brook or a swirling tide—people say, “Aqueous has passed this way.”

And sometimes, if you whisper kindly to the water, she might whisper back. Perrier 2025

Iron Age Spires

A style developed in March 2025 in concrete. A whimsical play with organic forms coated in a rust covering.
Sold by size from $200.00 to $1,200. please contact me if you want one, three or a dozen.

Spiral of Ages

Ancient steel, with rusted grace, Winds the sky in silent chase. Time-worn veins in Burnt Sienne's bloom, Twist like echoes through the flume shaped by fires flame.

A corkscrew spine of forged intent, sent by storms, yet never bent. Each turn a whisper, old and high,Climbing still—toward wind and sky.

Forest Floor Remnants - 2018 

A combination of Carbonature and Humanature styles as one.
Charcoal, Jarrah Bark, Laterite Gravel.

A Love Story of Charcoal and Bark

On a bed of moss, where silence grows,
Beneath the canopy’s shadowed throes,
Two shapes emerged from soot and seed
Charcoal soul and bark-veined tree.

She, the embered echo of fire’s past,
A figure sculpted to everlast.
He, the whisper in timber’s skin,
Worn by wind and wrapped within.

They met where roots in twilight curl,
Amidst the loam, the underworld.
Her touch, a smudge of memory's grace,
His breath, a crackle in time's embrace.

Charcoal traced her longing eyes
In the hollow hush of firefly skies.
Bark unpeeled his ancient fears,
Sap like tears from forgotten years.

They danced with leaves for fleeting hours,
Held together by earthbound powers.
A kiss exchanged beneath a fern—
Ash to seed, life’s slow return.

No vows were spoken, none could last—
For she was born of fire's past.
And he of trees that bend, then break,
But still, for her, his rings would ache.

Morning came with dew and light,
The forest bathed in misty white.
Yet on the floor where lovers met,
Their forms remain—still dark, still wet.

A piece of bark, a trail of black—
Love’s impression, burned and cracked.
A story told in carbon’s thread—
Of passion sparked, and softly shed.