Women, Memory, and the Mountain: The Story Behind My Rangitoto Portrait Series
There are landscapes we visit, and landscapes we carry. For me, Rangitoto has always belonged to the second kind — a shape that settles into memory and becomes part of how you see the world. Its calm, unmistakable silhouette has watched over so many moments in my life that it eventually found its way into my art. Not as a background, but as a quiet companion to the women who appear in this new portrait series.
The Rangitoto Figures began as a single painting: a soft, atmospheric portrait of a woman facing the viewer with a steady, contemplative presence. When she dried, her expression seemed to deepen. She felt serene, grounded, and filled with a kind of knowing. Behind her, Rangitoto stretched out like a protective horizon. I hadn’t planned it that way, but the pairing made sense — the stillness of the mountain echoing the stillness in her face.
From there, the series unfolded almost on its own.
The Women Who Stand with the Mountain
Each portrait in the series explores a different emotional tone — not dramatic emotion, but quiet inner life. These women are not posed or performing. They simply are, and in that stillness they become mirrors. Their eyes hold calm. Their shoulders soften. Their presence invites the viewer to slow down and breathe with them.
I’ve always been drawn to female figures who hold themselves with understated strength. There’s something compelling about a woman who doesn’t need to announce her emotions, because everything she feels is expressed in atmosphere, tone, and the space around her. In these works, Rangitoto becomes part of that expression. The mountain is not just a setting — it is the emotional landscape behind each woman.
Sometimes it mirrors her solitude.
Sometimes it amplifies her introspection.
Sometimes it simply holds her in place, as if the island is the shape of her inner world.
Memory as Colour
As the series evolved, I explored several filtered editions — golden, noir, twilight. Each revealed a different facet of the same figure. It fascinated me how a shift in light or colour could alter the emotional resonance entirely.
The golden edition feels sunlit and nostalgic, like a memory warmed by time.
The noir edition is more introspective, almost cinematic, whispering of private thoughts.
The twilight edition blends purples and greens, creating a dreamlike, transitional mood.
These are not merely variations. They are emotional reinterpretations — the same woman seen through different seasons of the heart.
It made me realise something: memory is never one shade. We remember places, and ourselves in them, with layers of colour that shift over time. Rangitoto, too, changes depending on weather, light, season, and mood. Capturing this felt honest — a way of acknowledging the complexity and softness of lived experience.
The Mountain Within Us
The more I worked, the more I felt that the “mountain” behind each figure was not just Rangitoto. It was metaphor. It was anchor. It was the shape of resilience, the shape of quiet endurance, the shape of home.
These portraits are not depictions of specific women.
They are portraits of inner life — of that part of us that remains steady beneath whatever surface weather comes.
When I saw the series together in a gallery mock-up for the first time, something shifted.
They belonged together.
They were three facets of the same quiet story:
a woman, a memory, and the mountain she carries within her.
A Growing Collection
This Rangitoto series has now expanded beyond what I originally imagined. Different moods, different interpretations, and different inner landscapes continue to emerge. Rangitoto has become a symbolic backdrop to a wider exploration of identity, emotion, and place — and I suspect she will appear again in future works.
For now, these portraits form a conversation:
between women and landscape,
between memory and colour,
between quietness and strength.
And perhaps, between artist and viewer too.
