“I grew up with dirty hands and was happiest with little to no clothing on.Before the sun rose, Dad would take me fishing. That moment, before light reveals the world, when what you see begins to blur into what you remember…. That’s what I paint. That feeling.

Genna is a multidisciplinary artist whose work is a quiet homage to then natural landscapes of her childhood, where detail is less important than atmosphere, and feeling holds more truth than form. Whether painting orworking with textiles, Genna draws from a palette of memory, earth and instinct.Her early life was spent immersed outside, shaping her creative world andan intuitive sensitivity to the way light moves. She recalls countlessafternoons in the bush when the day begins to slip into shadow, or trailingher father to the dam before sunrise, when the world was still half-dreamedand the colour of the day had yet to arrive. Her pieces are less aboutdepicting the visible world and more about capturing the liminal moments.In addition to her solo art practice, Genna is the founder of Beagle andBasset, a clothing and homeware studio dedicated to textile artistry,community, and the beauty of natural materials.

This exhibition presents two distinct but interconnected bodies of work that speak in different mediums but share a common language - one of reflection, memory, and the emotional imprint of landscape.This series of abstract oil landscapes is a quiet meditation on place, mood, and the shifting dance between light and dark. Working in earthy, muted sepia tones, the paintings are not concerned with detail or realism, but rather with evocation, echoing the afterglow and residue of a landscape you may have seen before. Each piece blurs the edge of memory and geography, offering a sense of having been somewhere known, yet unnamed. These works suggest a kind of internal cartography - emotional terrainshaped by familiarity, solitude, and the universal language of land and light.The blurred textures and layered impressions mirror the way memorysettles, like sediment, over time. They ask not what we saw, but how we felt.