Transforming the Raw into Art

Making art gives me the rare chance to turn raw, ordinary materials into something that feels alive. I love the moment when steel stops being “just steel” and starts to suggest movement, character, or a story.

Stained glass adds another layer of joy — watching light shift through colour, throwing shadows and reflections that change throughout the day.

No two moments are the same, and that feels like magic. I also enjoy the process itself: designing, cutting, forging, welding, and problem-solving until the piece finally comes together.

There’s a deep satisfaction in making something by hand, from start to finish, and then seeing it out in the world where people can live with it, walk around it, and connect with it in their own way.

The Interplay of Light on Art

Tasmania influences my work every day, mostly through its light and landscape.

The quality of light here is crisp and changeable — bright sun, fast-moving clouds, and long golden hours — and that suits the way I work with steel and stained glass.

I’m always thinking about how a piece will sit outdoors, how it will catch the sun, and how it will throw colour and shadow onto grass, stone, or a garden wall.

The Influence of Nature on Creativity

The natural environment also shapes the forms I’m drawn to: strong lines, organic patterns, and the sense of movement you see in wind, water, and bushland.

There’s a quiet toughness to Tasmania too — weathered coastlines, old trees, and seasons that can turn quickly — and I like making work that feels at home in that setting, built to last and to change beautifully over time.

Exploring Texture and Material

I work mainly in steel and stained glass, and lately I’ve been enjoying bringing sandstone into the mix as well — like the bases I used for Drifting Away and Highland Coo.

Steel gives me structure and strength, and I love how it can be shaped into clean lines or organic curves depending on the story I’m chasing.

Stained glass adds colour and light, and it changes the sculpture throughout the day as the sun moves — it’s never static.

Sandstone brings something grounding and timeless. It has weight, texture, and a natural warmth that balances the precision of metal and glass.

Expression Through Steel

I started with steel through fabrication and hands-on work, then moved into sculpture once I realised how expressive the material could be.

Stained glass came later as a way to add depth and atmosphere, and sandstone followed naturally as I looked for bases that felt connected to the Tasmanian landscape.

Observation and Design

Sketching on location isn’t a big part of my process in the traditional sense, but I do spend time observing a site before I commit to a design — especially when a sculpture is being made for a specific garden or entranceway.

I’m always thinking about scale, sightlines, and how the piece will be seen as someone approaches it or moves past it.

Instead of sitting down with a sketchbook outdoors, I’m more likely to take reference photos, make quick notes, and then develop the design back in the studio.

Light matters a lot in my work, so I pay attention to where the sun falls during the day and what surrounds the spot — trees, fences, open sky, or stone.

That information shapes the final form, and it helps me make something that feels like it belongs in that place rather than just being placed there.

Nurturing the Muse

I nurture my creative muse by staying close to materials and making regularly, even when I’m not “ready” with a perfect idea.

Often inspiration arrives through the work itself — cutting, shaping, and testing forms until something clicks.

I’ll follow small sparks of curiosity, like a new curve in steel, a pattern in glass, or a texture in stone, and let those lead the next design.

Light is a constant inspiration. I’m drawn to how stained glass changes throughout the day, and how shadows can become part of the sculpture’s presence.

Nature also plays a big role — not necessarily copying it directly, but taking cues from movement, rhythm, and repetition in things like windblown grass, branches, or water.

I also find inspiration in conversations at gallery weekends and exhibitions. Hearing what people see in a piece often shows me new directions I hadn’t considered.

The Trap of the Perfect Moment

The best advice I’ve been given is to keep making — even when you don’t feel inspired, even when the idea isn’t fully formed.

Waiting for the “perfect” moment can become a trap.

Momentum creates clarity, and the work has a way of teaching you what it wants to become once you start.

I’ve also learned that consistency beats intensity.

Small, regular sessions in the studio do more for creativity than occasional big bursts followed by long gaps.

Showing up builds skill, confidence, and a body of work you can actually stand behind.

The Power of Play

Another valuable lesson is to make space for play. Not everything has to be a finished piece or a product. Trying new techniques, testing a shape, or exploring a material with no pressure often leads to the most original ideas.

Creativity thrives when it has room to move.

Building Artistic Skills

One of the best ways to build artistic skill is simple repetition with intention: make, review, refine, and make again.

Choose a specific element to improve each time — cleaner welds, stronger composition, better glass fit, more balanced proportions — and treat every piece as practice as well as a finished work.

The second is to learn from others, even outside your medium.

Look closely at work you admire, visit exhibitions, and study how artists solve problems of form, scale, and storytelling.

When possible, ask questions, watch demonstrations, or do short courses to pick up techniques that would take years to discover alone.

The third is to take on projects that stretch you just beyond your comfort zone.

Growth happens when you attempt something slightly harder than last time — a new shape, a new material, or a more ambitious build — and then work through the mistakes until it clicks.

Embracing the Seasons and Weather

Something I’d like to share is how important the outdoor setting is to my work.

I don’t make sculptures to sit still and look perfect under indoor lighting.

I want them to live in the weather and the seasons — to throw colour on a bright morning, to feel more dramatic on an overcast day, and to develop character over time.

Steel, glass, and stone are honest materials, and I like that they can handle real life.

I’m also grateful for the conversations that happen around the work.

When someone tells me a sculpture reminds them of a place, a memory, or even a feeling they can’t quite name, it’s a reminder of why I do this.

If you ever want to see the pieces in person, I’m always happy to arrange a walk-through and talk you through the process and the stories behind them.

About the Artist

I’m a Tasmanian-based artist working in steel and stained glass, creating outdoor sculptures designed to interact with natural light and landscape.

My pieces combine strong metal forms with colour and shadow from glass, and often incorporate stone bases to ground them in place.

Each work is designed and built by hand in my Riverside (Launceston) studio, balancing fabrication skill with a love of storytelling through materials.

I create one-off sculptures, small collections, and commissioned pieces for gardens and outdoor spaces across Tasmania.

Be sure to explore Peter’s Fire and Light website with his firepits, commissions and gallery and to follow Peter on Facebook and Instagram!