What is a Talisman?

People often ask me why my latest collection of sculptures is called Talismans.

Part of the answer goes back a long way, to a book I read years ago—The Talisman by Stephen King and Peter Straub. I’ve read it again several times since and it still grabs me. It wasn't just the story itself, but the sense that there was another world sitting just beyond the edge of the ordinary. Full of mystery, old magic and strange relics waiting to be discovered. I loved that feeling, and it has quietly stayed with me all these years. Looking back, it probably had more influence on this collection than I realised.

Traditionally, a talisman is an object believed to hold protective or magical qualities. People have carried them throughout history for courage, guidance, luck or strength. Whether or not you believe in magic isn't really the point. I think we all have objects that mean something to us—a stone picked up on a special walk, an old family keepsake, a feather found at just the right moment. Sometimes an object becomes important simply because of the story we give it.

I still pick up special stones when I'm walking. Also found a possum skull yesterday! Can a dirty old possum skull be a Talisman?

The Talisman collection began with a rather vague idea. I wanted to create something that felt much larger than the individual pieces themselves—I put some thought into what sort of shape and kept coming back to this circular unfurling shape. I'd made a tiny sketch quite some time earlier, and although nothing happened immediately, the idea quietly ticked away in the back of my mind until it was ready.

Some have animal shaped heads at the centre, this came about because the silhouette of one looked animal-like and I thought, ‘cool-I’ll use that idea’ (some ideas are well-thought out - others because it’s just a cool idea!)

As I started making them, the stories arrived almost by themselves. Before long I wasn't simply creating sculptures—I was imagining ancient relics scattered through forgotten forests, quietly waiting to be found. Naturally, that meant taking them out into the bush to photograph them where they looked as though they truly belonged.

This proved challenging, the main obstacle being my not-so-helpful assistant, Max.

Max takes his role very seriously, although I'm still not entirely sure what he thinks that role is. He has an extraordinary talent for placing himself directly between the camera and whatever I'm trying to photograph. If he isn't knocking sculptures over with enthusiastic curiosity, he's standing exactly where the light is best or barking at me because I've stopped walking for more than thirty seconds.

In Max's opinion, bush walks should happen at approximately one hundred miles an hour. Stopping to arrange tiny forest relics for photographs is, apparently, an incomprehensible waste of perfectly good walking time.

He’s not feeling the peaceful calming vibe of the forest.

Despite my assistant's best efforts, these little expeditions have become one of my favourite parts of creating the collection. For a little while, it's easy to imagine these Talismans really have been resting quietly among moss-covered logs and beneath ancient trees, waiting for someone curious enough to notice them.

Got to go clean up a dirty old possum skull now.