Charlene Walker
- Anna Lilli Garai
- Apr 26
- 4 min read
Updated: 4 days ago
Charlene Walker pays attention to what shifts — the kind of movement you almost miss. A breeze through trees, the curve of a smoke trail, the way a thought circles back in the middle of the day. Her paintings often start with something small, like a moment in the landscape or a change in light, and grow from there. She’s drawn to cycles, patterns, and quiet forces — moon phases, bushfires, the passing of time. Her process moves between instinct and structure, design and chance, building pieces that hold both control and surprise. You can feel the rhythm of her thinking in the work: steady, curious, always chasing what stays. It's not about capturing everything — just finding one part that feels real enough to hold on to.
Q: Your recent work turns to cycles—moon phases, time, smoke. What brought those ideas together?
A: I started making little side projects on the moon as there have been many interesting moon events over the past two years, including a rare blood moon and several eclipses in this part of the world.
I am a bit of a stargazer, and I love astronomy. I have a fantastic book of spectacular photos from all the US lunar landings, which I pore over from time to time. I follow a couple of astronomy websites with images of the solar system and the fantastic discoveries of the Hubble and James Webb space telescopes.
Also, I have been reading some new ideas on time — that it is not a dimension but a flow and therefore not the fourth dimension as has been postulated. Einstein’s 4-dimensional spacetime is being seen anew — outcome unsure (cultural time notwithstanding).
I've also been reflecting on the connection between smoking ceremonies practised by Indigenous peoples and the role of bushfire smoke in accelerating the germination of plants. Smoke is not necessarily a negative force; it plays a vital role in the revival of life.
And lastly, I was inspired by the book "Orbital" and the idea of the crew (cyclically) observing the beauty of our planet, so distanced from the chaos on the ground.
All this coalesced into ideas that I am now working through.
Q: "Firestorm" felt like a turning point. What changed in your approach after that piece?
A: I have always been concerned that my work in paint might reflect too much of my design practice if I used flat, hard-edge shapes and marks. As a result, I have in the past avoided this style of painting, and typically, I don't create storytelling or narrative art. However, in making the first "Firestorm" piece, certain graphic elements began to appear and the approach, unexpectedly, worked well for this series of paintings. This in turn led me to develop a new direction in style, including for me the unusual choice of acrylics, which suited this style.
Q: You move between loose watercolour and crisp forms. What tells you which way to go?
A: My work is always based on colour and composition, but the rest is intuition mostly.
Q: Even in abstraction, your compositions feel ordered. How do you find that internal structure?
A: It seems innate. Even when I was young, I had a natural eye for composition and observation. Sometimes, the most mundane scene looks amazing to me because of its shapes and forms and the way the eye is drawn to light and colour.
Q: Landscape shows up more as presence than picture. What part of it stays with you when you paint?
A: I find it hard to put into words, but I have been to many places, particularly in Australia, where the landscape is so immense and profound that it seeps into the brain and the psyche.
It vibrates an energy that I want to turn back into something creative. After I finished college, I spent two months in Paris, and one day, I was hit by a sudden realisation, an epiphany, about how the Australian landscape affects me and how much a part of my life it is.
That connection is beyond words, so I guess that's why I am so drawn to paint the landscape.
I believe this is also why I have always been passionate about environmental issues, even as a young child.
Q: After years in design, what feels different about making work just for yourself?
A: When I was studying fine arts for all those years, it made me feel whole. I know that sounds a bit dippy, but even though I love designing, I can't fully express myself; I paint to show how much I feel about a subject, a concentration, distillation of the experience and what I physically see.
I feel excited when I observe the interplay of colours and shapes. It could be a large all-ultramarine Brett Whiteley painting of Sydney Harbour or a Rothko colour field painting. When specific colours and shapes interact, it is like a drug!
