Inside Fiona Bilbrough’s world of light

Peel back the layers and you may discover unexpected surprises, which is the feeling when entering the art studio of acclaimed oil painter Fiona Bilbrough, who has lived in Korumburra now for the past six years.

When not painting brilliant light on oil canvas for her shows, exhibitions and the Archibald Prize, Fiona explores deeper, more personal issues with some of the most stunning portraiture available in the country right now.

In this lengthy interview Fiona explains the connections to everything in her art and life …

Interviewer: From what we can see, your art seems to be heavily illuminated by light.

Artist: It is. I’ve often said that light is the true subject of my work—more so than the objects themselves. It’s the light that creates the atmosphere, and it’s what draws people in. If I can hold their attention a little longer, I’ve done my job.

If I painted every inch in detail, but the light was just average, I’d consider myself more of an illustrator. A lot of people who paint directly from photographs can become slaves to the accuracy of the photo. But I want viewers to notice the light first and then explore the content or subject.

The subject might be something nostalgic or modern, or even a collectible family heirloom. My goal is to connect with the viewer, but not through something conventionally pretty or overly expensive-looking.

I don’t paint for décor.

Interviewer: People commission you to create custom work, right?

Artist: Yes, I do commissions, but they can be stressful. Often, clients come with preconceived ideas that aren’t realistic. For instance, someone might want a portrait and ask to look 10 years younger. I can do that, but I’d rather they didn’t ask, because I already aim to capture their best qualities naturally.

I don’t focus on things like wrinkles or blemishes—that’s what you see in photos. When I work with live models, I look for structure, softness, and edge dynamics. The small details, like wrinkles, don’t stand out to me. In fact, sometimes I don’t even notice the model’s eye color until later in the process. My brain prioritizes what’s essential—the light, the form, and the emotional core of the subject.

Interviewer: Painting seems to shift your mindset or emotions. Is there anything else in your life that has that effect?

Artist: Painting is definitely transformative, but my love of animals and horse riding has a similar impact. Lately, cold-water swimming at the beach has been another outlet for me.

Interviewer: Would you say painting is more work or joy?

Artist: Painting is work, but I’d say 95% of it is joy. The stress comes when I’m preparing for a show or trying to get a piece framed—framing has been especially challenging lately.

Aside from painting, I find therapy in gardening. My garden is my gym, and I spend hours working outside instead of going to a fitness center. Painting and gardening are both therapeutic for me, and I love that I have something tangible to show for my efforts.

When I’m struggling with physical or mental health, I take a step back from painting. Sometimes I’ll study other artists, research their methods, or explore their influences. That’s still part of the process for me. It’s all a balancing act—between painting, snorkeling, cold-water swimming, and gardening.

I don’t want to give up any of it because all of these activities feed into my creativity and give me peace. A lot of people go through life without ever finding that kind of fulfillment in their work or hobbies. That’s a tragedy, especially when someone has a talent or passion but never gets the chance to share it.

Interviewer: Is painting ever isolating?

Artist: It can be. When you’re in the studio, you’re often alone—unless you’re teaching. But I find that solitude helpful. For major exhibition pieces, I usually work at night to avoid interruptions.

It’s a solitary process, but also a meditative one. Painting is like mindfulness—it centers me.

Interviewer: So gardening isn’t mindful because you’re not really thinking?

Artist: It’s more like just switching off. But when I’m in here, this is a form of mindfulness. And I’ve noticed that many of my more mature students feel the same way. They see it, they feel it, and I can see it in them when they come here.

They’re so excited to be here. They’ve told me that they talk about the class the whole way home. Then, when they get home, they display their work, and they keep looking at it all week. So, the lesson stays with them longer.

Interviewer: That’s fascinating.

Artist: It really is. It’s kind of addictive.

Interviewer: Addictive? Really?

Artist: Yes. You’re creating something by considering every detail—the light, the placement, the form. When you’re painting, you’re throwing light down onto the canvas, and that precision is what makes it so captivating.

Interviewer: So that’s what sets your work apart from illustrators?

Artist: Exactly. My approach is rooted in light. The human eye can only focus on a small area in detail at any given time. For instance, if I’m looking at you and studying the form of your eyes, the sockets, and the nostrils, I can’t see the finer details outside of that focus. My peripheral vision might tell me there’s something green over there or that there’s a patch of light disturbance, but my focus is on you.

This means my work doesn’t treat every inch of the canvas the same way. I prioritize a focal point, and as the viewer moves away from it, the detail gradually fades. The amount of paint I use, the brushes I choose, and the surface I’m working on all influence how the viewer’s eye lingers on specific areas. It’s about creating relationships between areas of the painting.

Interviewer: So it’s a lot about understanding your materials?

Artist: Absolutely. Knowing how paint behaves is crucial. If I change brushes or switch to a different surface, it’s like learning a whole new set of rules. And that’s part of what keeps me coming back—it’s an elusive chase. I’m always trying to recreate or capture something I haven’t quite mastered.

Interviewer: Do you feel satisfied with your work now?

Artist: There’s always more to paint. I could spend my entire life painting still lifes in oils and never exhaust the possibilities. I’d still be chasing that perfect effect, that moment of light or texture I want to capture.

Interviewer: So it’s about what you see in that first glance?

Artist: Exactly. When someone looks at my paintings, my hope is that their eye is drawn to the focal point I intended. That’s all down to the use of light and how it’s orchestrated on the canvas.

Interviewer: (Gesturing) Are those plums on the right?

Artist: (Laughs) Yes, those are plums. Do you need glasses?

Interviewer: Maybe! Is that why I’ve been misidentifying some of these?

Artist: (Smiling) Could be!

Interviewer: The calling for art—where did that actually come from? Have you always had it?

Artist: That’s a very interesting story. At school, I was just "the athletic, sporty twin." I’m an identical twin, and we were pretty well-known for winning everything.

I went through high school without really knowing what I wanted to do. So, I decided to study teaching in Melbourne. Back then, it was called the CAE; now it’s Melbourne University’s Faculty of Teaching. Even then, I wasn’t sure it was going to be my final career.

I don’t think most teenagers know exactly what they want to do unless they’re completely obsessed with something. Most people, I’d say, change careers once they’ve started and explored their options.

Anyway, I was at university, studying four subjects: painting, photography (which I enjoyed a lot), textiles, and sculpture. One day, I got into the lift at uni, and there were all these ads posted inside. One of them was an entry form for the Portia Geach Award.

Cheeky me—I grabbed one, thinking, “I might paint something for this,” without even reading the whole thing. When I got around to reading the instructions, I saw that you had to paint someone notable in the arts, letters, or sciences—someone famous.

At first, I had no clue who I could paint. But then I remembered this incredible man I had met at the McClelland Gallery in Langwarrin. My mum used to send me there for art lessons when I was about 10. While my brother went surfing and my sister did her own thing, I was supposed to be at art class.

The teacher back then was Mr Balmain, and I think my mum paid upfront for the term. But after three lessons, I told her, “I don’t want to go anymore. I don’t like being told what to do.”

Fast-forward to the lift moment—I thought of Mr Balmain and decided to find him. I contacted the gallery, got his number, and made an appointment.

When he answered the door, he was an elderly man with a cat draped around his neck. He didn’t look at all like the man I remembered from when I was ten. But he invited me in, and his house blew me away. It was floor-to-ceiling with paintings—his own and those of some of the most famous Australian Impressionist artists.

The house was chaotic, almost like a hoarder’s house, but it was fascinating. I was probably 17 or 18 at the time, and my jaw dropped. I didn’t want to leave.

He was so sweet, humble, and generous with his time and knowledge. I instantly fell in love with him. I realized how special he was and thought, I need to listen to this man because he won’t be here forever.

After our conversation, he told me he was closing his school but would keep one class going. He invited me to join, and I ended up doing a two-year, once-a-week class with him.

When he passed away, I couldn’t paint for two years. I was so heartbroken. I felt like I couldn’t paint unless I was in his studio. But people kept telling me, “It’s not fair to him. You owe it to John Balmain to pass on what he taught you. That’s why he was so patient and encouraging.”

It turned out that the teacher I’d had at the McClelland Gallery as a child was his son. There was this incredible connection between us, and I felt it instantly when I met him.

He was an animal lover—he’d take in stray cats and even nurse injured birds back to health. He was just the most beautiful person I’d ever met: calm, patient, and so easygoing. He would say to me, “What’s the rush? Absorb it. Take it in. Enjoy it. Don’t rush.”

He modeled everything I now do as an artist. Without meeting him, I’d probably still be teaching—or doing something I don’t even care about. But after meeting him, I knew no one could stop me from pursuing art.

He was a special man, and I knew I was in the presence of greatness. My head was spinning the whole drive home after meeting him.

Of course, people kept saying, “Don’t put everything into art. You need to get a degree, a steady job.” But after meeting him, I knew art was where I belonged.

Interviewer: Halfway through your four-year degree, you took a year off. But it was John Belman who told you to go back and finish, wasn’t it?

Interviewee: Yes, exactly. He said, "Get back to uni and finish your degree. You’ll regret it if you don’t—you need that bit of paper." And I listened to him. If I needed advice or was struggling, I’d go straight to John. I think my parents were probably very grateful that it was John I was turning to, not someone my own age with ulterior motives. They met him and said, "Oh, he’s such an interesting man."

Interviewer: You always need that one person, don’t you?

Interviewee: Absolutely. He was so special. The impression he left on me shaped my entire life. Meeting him truly was life-changing.

Interviewer: Can you share one of your most memorable career moments related to him?

Interviewee: Definitely. One of the standout moments in my career was when I won the Alice Bale Traveling Scholarship. It was $30,000 at the time—now it’s $50,000. At the presentation, John was there. Just before the announcement, he came over and held my hand. We were both sweating, and I remember saying, "Is that you, or is it me? I’m so nervous!"

When they called my name, he squeezed my hand. I’m sure he knew all along that I had a good chance. I was so pleased he was there when I won. It’s a moment I can still feel to this day.

Interviewer: That must have been emotional.

Interviewee: It really was. I wanted him to travel with me and see the galleries again like he did when he was younger, but his health didn’t allow it. When I stood in front of a painting that moved me deeply, I’d walk out of the gallery, sit on the steps, and call John in Australia. Sometimes, I’d be in tears trying to explain what I was seeing.

Interviewer: He understood, though, didn’t he?

Interviewee: Always. He knew exactly what I was feeling.

Interviewer: That reminds me of Eckhart Tolle’s The Power of Now. Have you read it?

Interviewee: No, but I’ve heard of it.

Interviewer: He talks about how people often fail to appreciate the beauty of the world around them. He says the world itself is the most beautiful thing we have.

Interviewee: That resonates. I think that’s why people paint flowers, sunsets, water, trees—because they’re among the most beautiful things in existence.

Interviewer: Nature doesn’t need instructions or a recipe; it just happens.

Interviewee: Exactly. The colors, the details—nature is perfect on its own. What I paint is really just an abbreviation of what I’m trying to express. The better I get, the less explanation my work should need.

Interviewer: Your medium is oil on linen, right?

Interviewee: Yes, that’s correct. Linen is the surface, and oil is the paint. Sometimes, I use other mediums out of curiosity. I’ve worked with watercolors, particularly when health issues prevent me from standing to work on larger oil pieces. But there’s always this pull to return to oils as soon as I can.

Interviewer: Painting seems to be more than just a career for you—it’s almost like a need.

Interviewee: It really is. When I can’t paint, I feel frustrated and irritable. Painting centers me.

Interviewer: Your portraiture work often has a deeper story. For example, your painting of Rosie Batty and now this new piece you’re considering, which involves a tragic story from Korumburra. Where does that connection come from?

Interviewee: I think it comes from a desire to draw attention to causes that matter. With Rosie, everyone could empathize with her story. The new piece I’m considering also involves tragedy and violence, but there’s a personal connection: the couple involved already owns one of my works.

Interviewer: That must be delicate, though—asking to create art out of such a personal and tragic experience.

Interviewee: It is. There’s a fine line between being intrusive and offering a cathartic experience. Sitting for a portrait can be an unusual, even healing process. It’s not about self-consciousness; it’s about capturing their essence in the moment.

Interviewer: So, it’s less about the story itself and more about the person?

Interviewee: Exactly. When I paint someone like Rosie or this new subject, I’m not just focusing on their story or trauma. I’m thinking about who they were before it all happened and how they’ve moved forward.

Interviewer: Does that tie into your still life work at all?

Interviewee: In a way, yes. My still life pieces aim to make people slow down and look closely—whether at the light or the composition. I want to show that still life can be contemporary and meaningful, just as my portraits can carry a message without being overtly political.

Interviewer: What would you say is the overarching theme in your work?

Interviewee: Reflection. Whether it’s through still life or portraiture, I want people to stop, look, and think. My work is about slowing down, seeing the beauty in light, and feeling a connection to the subject.

Interviewer: How would you describe your work? There's an emotion that's difficult to put into words, but in painting, it seems like it conveys that emotion.

Artist: It's challenging to explain, and I often hear people say, "Oh, you've captured the emotion," but I think that's an oversimplification. What I try to capture is a moment—an abbreviation of something that resonated worldwide. I don’t consider myself a political painter, but I do have the opportunity to make people stop and reflect longer. You might read a headline and move on, but when you see a painting, it gives you a chance to pause and absorb the story behind it. It's a visual language of unspoken words, a form of storytelling.

While some might think it’s narcissistic to delve into other people’s affairs for a subject, art allows me to bring attention to important issues. The Archibald Prize, for example, has become more about who the subject is rather than the craftsmanship. When I painted Rosie, it was years after a personal tragedy, and she said she really enjoyed the experience. For me, it was healing too, as I was going through a violent period in my own life. It became a mutual benefit—we both gained something from the process. I identify as a painter, and painting during that time was a way to ground myself.

Interviewer: When you unveiled Rosie’s portrait, how did she react?

Artist: Rosie was still in deep grief when the portrait was unveiled. She said she loved it, and I gave it to her. A couple of years later, I wanted to showcase it again, as family violence was in the news, and it felt important to remind people that these issues are ongoing. Her face is so recognizable, but it sadly links to family violence. Bringing it out again was a way to say, "This can’t be ignored."

Interviewer: Are you planning to explore similar themes in your future work?

Artist: Yes, I’m focused on a new subject—a story that’s been unfolding for a long time, but only came to light after a tragedy. The lack of accountability from certain services is something I want to highlight. This person, like Rosie, is someone I deeply respect. They’ve already experienced my art in my studio, and they’re significant to me. That’s why they deserve to be painted.

Interviewer: You live in Korumburra now. How long have you been here?

Artist: Just over six years. And I can finally say I’m home. I grew up in Frankston, then moved to Somerville, then Rosebud, where I built my first studio. But when I moved to Korumburra I just knew this was where I was meant to be. The moment I saw the place, I knew I wasn’t going anywhere.

Interviewer: How has the community welcomed you?

Artist: It’s incredible. The people are so welcoming. They helped me settle in—bringing me cakes, offering assistance. It’s a tight-knit community where people genuinely care about one another. If you don't wave at someone, they’ll ask, "Did I do something wrong?" It’s a place where people truly mean it when they ask how you are.

Interviewer: How do you feel about the town now, having lived here for a while?

Artist: It’s like stepping back in time. The pace is slower, there’s no graffiti or road rage. It feels safe and creative. The area is full of artists, and the sense of community is strong. It’s not about competition, but about supporting each other and inspiring one another. There’s a real sense of camaraderie among the creative people here. I’ve come to appreciate everything about this place—the gardens, the music scene, the sense of peace that comes with it all.

Interviewer: Do you think Korumburra could become more like a tourist destination in the future?

Artist: Absolutely, it has that potential. But even if it does, I hope it retains its sense of small-town charm. People here care about each other, and the connection is strong. It’s not just about living in a place—it’s about being part of a community.

Interviewer: How has living there affected your work?

Artist: It’s been a transformative experience. Coming from a stressful environment, this place helped me slow down and become more selective with my time. I was able to focus on building my studio and honing my identity as an artist. The change was almost automatic—it wasn’t something I planned, but it happened naturally.

Interviewer: It sounds like you’ve found peace and clarity in your work.

Artist: I think so. I’ve become more refined in my art. I leave out details now that I would have included before. It’s about capturing the light and mood—the essence of the moment. When I look back at older pieces, I sometimes think, "That was pretty good." But I know my work has evolved. I’ve grown, and I’m focused on capturing the deeper layers of the story.

Interviewer: Your work is truly exquisite. What’s next for you?

Artist: I’ll keep painting until I die. That’s what I do. But now, I’m taking my time more. Slowing down, but making every moment count in my art.”