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Acrylic on canvas

Inspired by the poem: Clancy’s reply allegedly written by “Clancy” (Thomas Gerald Clancy), composed as a reply to Banjo Paterson’s poem, “Clancy of the Overflow” It is believed to have been written in 1897.

here is a snippet:

’Neath the star-spangled dome
Of my Austral home,
When watching by the camp fire’s ruddy glow,
Oft in the flickering blaze
Is presented to my gaze
The sun-drenched kindly faces
Of the men of Overflow.

Now, though years have passed forever
Since I used, with best endeavour
Clip the fleeces of the jumbucks
Down the Lachlan years ago,
Still in memory linger traces
Of many cheerful faces,
And the well-remembered visage
Of the Bulletin’s “Banjo”.

Tired of life upon the stations,
With their wretched, scanty rations,
I took a sudden notion
That a droving I would go;
Then a roving fancy took me,
Which has never since forsook me,
And decided me to travel,
And leave the Overflow.

….

Over arid plains extended
My route has often tended,
Droving cattle to the Darling,
Or along the Warrego;
Oft with nightly rest impeded,
When the cattle had stampeded,
Save I sworn that droving pleasures
For the future I’d forego.

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Acrylic on canvas

Poem by Rachael Middlebrook

Out in the bush, where the gum trees sing,
Lives a barefoot boy who loves the spring.
The creeks and rivers are his playground wide,
Where the land drinks deep and life abides.

By the banks, he watches the waters flow,
A silent dance where the wild things go.
The swamp wallaby bounds through the ferny shade,
A quiet shadow in the green arcade

Above, the black cockatoos cry and soar,
Echoes of freedom in the bushland’s lore.
The galahs wheel bright in the golden light,
A flash of pink in the endless flight.

With a stick in hand and mud on his knees,
He follows the whispers of the creek-side breeze.
Every pool holds secrets, every bend a tale,
Of tadpoles darting and dragonflies’ pale.

He knows each bend, each ripple's grin,
The land’s lifeblood runs deep within.
The river’s song is his guiding tune,
From morning sun to the rise of the moon.

For the boy from the bush, the wild is home,
The creeks and rivers are where he’ll roam.
A child of water, earth, and sky,
Living with nature, as days drift by.

Acrylic on canvas

Inspired by “The Ballad of the Drover” by Henry Lawson.

Here’s a snippet:

An hour has filled the heavens
With storm-clouds inky black;
At times the lightning trickles
Around the drover's track;

But Harry pushes onward,
His horses' strength he tries,
In hope to reach the river
Before the flood shall rise.

The thunder pealing o'er him
Goes rumbling down the plain;
And sweet on thirsty pastures
Beats fast the rushing rain.

Then every creek and gully
Sends forth its tribute flood—
The river runs a banker,
All stained with yellow mud.

Now Harry speaks to Rover,
The best dog on the plains,
And to his hardy horses,
And strokes their shaggy manes.

“We’ve breasted bigger rivers
When floods were at their height
Nor shall this gutter stop us
From getting home tonight!”

Oil on canvas

“I love a sunburnt country,
A land of sweeping plains,
Of rugged mountain ranges,
Of droughts and flooding rains.”

“Sunburnt Country” is a tribute to the breathtaking beauty and raw contrasts of the Australian landscape, inspired by the iconic poem by Dorothea Mackellar. I’ve tried to capture the essence of this land—the resilience, the wildness, and the spirit that makes it so deeply a part of who we are.

Acrylic on canvas

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A soft scene from Laceys Creek in the Dayboro area showing a well-worn saddle resting in the shade. Nearby, an Australian Kelpie, loyal and alert even at rest, takes a well-deserved break from moving cattle. Off scene, the stockman cools their horse in the creek.

Acrylic on canvas

This painting pays homage to the old shed on Mount Brisbane Road, Mount Pleasant—a weathered landmark all the locals know and love. To me, it signifies the comforting feeling of being almost home. I’ve been meaning to capture it on canvas for years, and one morning, as winter mist settled over the paddocks and the rising sun painted the sky with soft, colourful hues, the scene came alive. It was the perfect moment to honour this humble yet iconic part of the landscape.

Oil on canvas

This piece carries a sense of immense power and raw energy. Even today, there are remote places in Australia where European/‘gubba’ footprints are rare, and the connection to Country remains deeply rooted and unbroken. Through this painting of a young First Nations Girl galloping in the pindan dirt ahead of the storm, I want to honour the First Nations peoples and their enduring bond with the land, a connection that inspires me continuously and one which in many respects, we have lost.

Acrylic on canvas

Poem by Rachael Middlebrook

Through the mist of the Snowy’s embrace,
A horsewoman rides at a steady pace.
Her mare steps sure, the packhorse near,
Together they move through the river clear.

The Thredbo whispers, swift and cold,
A song of mountains, timeless and bold.
The water swirls at the horses’ knees,
A dance with the current, a bond with the breeze.

The woman guides with a quiet hand,
Trust in her heart, one with the land.
Her breath meets the chill, her gaze holds true,
A trail of dreams in the mountain’s view.

Across they go, through the river’s song,
A trio united, steadfast and strong.
In the Snowy’s depths, their story flows,
Where the Thredbo runs and the cold wind blows.

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Acrylic on canvas

Poem by Rachael Middlebrook

Echoes in the High Country Hut
Beneath the peaks where the cold winds bite,
A high country hut glows warm at night.
Drovers gather 'round the campfire's gleam,
Sharing tales that drift like a mountain stream.

The walls hold secrets of seasons gone,
Of storms endured and the break of dawn.
Boots by the door, hats on a peg,
A kettle hums as the embers beg.

Stars spill silver through the timbered frame,
Each spark a whisper, each flame a name.
For in this hut, where the world feels wide,
Lives the heart of the bush, and the mountains' pride.

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Acrylic on canvas

Poem by Rachael Middlebrook

High on the range, by a snow gum's side,
A shed stands strong where the weary hide.
Its walls hold warmth, its firelight glows,
A place where healing quietly flows.

Travelers gather, their stories unfold,
Dreams reignite in the mountain’s cold.
Laughter and tears, the heart’s refrain,
In this simple shed, they find life again.

When dawn paints gold on the frosted crest,
They leave renewed, their spirits at rest.
The shed in Kosciuszko, humble and true,
Is a haven of peace in the mountain’s view.

Oil on canvas

Poem by Rachael Middlebrook

Amidst the blaze, where mountains weep,
The brumbies rise from fiery sleep.
Smoke curls 'round their untamed grace,
Yet fire cannot their spirit erase.

Through scorched earth and ash they tread,
Shadows dancing where flames have fled.
In their eyes, the alpine gleams,
A land reborn in ancient dreams.

Their hooves mark trails of silent might,
Survivors crowned by the morning light.
Wild and free, their hearts endure,
A living pulse, fierce and pure.

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Acrylic on canvas

Poem by Rachael Middlebrook

In the hush of dawn, where the grasses sway,
A horsewoman moves, her quiet ballet.
No whip, no shout, no iron will,
Just a bond unspoken, a sacred skill.

Her hand is steady, her heart is kind,
She speaks to horses with a touch of mind.
A flick of her wrist, a breath in the air,
And they follow her lead, without despair.

Her collie waits, with eyes aglow,
By her side through the sun's warm show.
A leap, a bark, a guiding dash,
Together they move like shadows that flash.

The stallion bows, the mare takes flight,
Her whispers calm through the soft twilight.
No boastful claim, no crowd to cheer,
Just her and her herd, year after year.

Her boots are worn, her hat sits low,
Her life’s a rhythm only few know.
For in her hands lies nature's art,
A quiet mastery that tames the wild heart.

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Acrylic on canvas

Poem by Rachael Middlebrook

A horse will see what you conceal,
Through quiet eyes, your truth is real.
No word is spoken, yet they know,
The fears you hide, the strength you show.

Their steady gaze, a mirror clear,
Reflects your heart without veneer.
A silent wisdom, calm and deep,
They hold your soul, your secrets keep.

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Acrylic on canvas

Poem by Rachael Middlebrook

In sweeping strokes, the horse takes flight,
A dance of motion, shadow, and light.
But look beyond the boldest lines—
In hidden shapes, the spirit shines.

A mane becomes a whispered trace,
Where unseen figures softly grace.
Each curve a story, each hue a call,
Echoes of horses, one and all.

Their presence hums, a quiet refrain,
A rhythm felt but not quite plain.
Like memories stirred by the touch of breeze,
They linger in the brush, like whispers in trees.

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Acrylic on canvas

A tribute to all the fathers who help their daughters embrace their dreams.

“It’s only when you grow up and step back from him – or leave him for your own home – it’s only then that you can measure his greatness and fully appreciate it” – Margaret Truman.

Acrylic on canvas

The wandering albatross, with its awe-inspiring wingspan—the largest of any bird—embodies the spirit of freedom and resilience. Soaring effortlessly over the wild seas surrounding Macquarie Island, this majestic seabird is a master of the winds, traveling vast distances across the Southern Ocean.

Acrylic on canvas

Funds raised through the sale of this painting went to the Dayboro Rural Fire Brigade

Poem by Rachael Middlebrook

Out in the scrub where the gum trees sway,
Where the sun bakes the earth through the long, dry day,
Lives a spirit unbroken, steadfast, and true—
The rural firefighter, in gold and blue.

With boots in the dust and a helmet of flame,
They answer the call, though no one seeks fame.Through smoke-choked valleys and ridges steep,
They battle the fire where shadows
creep.

The dragon roars through the dry, brittle brush,
Its breath turns the bushland to a smoldering hush.
But they stand with their hoses, their courage ablaze,
Turning terror to triumph in the smoky haze.

It's not for the riches; there's no gold to claim,
But for kin, for country, they play this game.
A fence to defend, a neighbour's old shed,
A forest to save from the ashes' spread.

And when the blaze is beaten, and the silence takes hold,
The stars pierce the sky, serene and cold.
They sit by the truck, their faces stained,
By sweat, by soot, by the fight they’ve gained.

In the heart of Australia, where the bush runs deep,
Lives the rural firefighter, awake while we sleep.
With grit and resolve, they heed the land’s plea—

Oil on canvas

This painting is dedicated to my Dad who introduced me and my brothers to sailing when we were kids. Sailing 8ft timber Northbridge Juniors. I loved everything about it: scribbling the race buoy marker names down my arm in permanent marker, the rush of adrenaline at the race start line, and even the thrill of righting my boat after it capsized from a little too much enthusiasm with the mainsheet. My boat was called FIDO, with a paw print on the sail—you could spot it anywhere. Those moments on the water were some of the best parts of my childhood, filled with adventure, resilience, and pure joy.

Thanks Dad.