Sightlines

Lisa Michele Burns

SIGHTLINES

Patterns + Palettes of Australian Landscapes 1

CONTENTS

Introduction

6

Sightlines

8

Captions

250

A Photographer’s Adventure

255

CONTENTS

Introduction

6

Sightlines

8

Captions

250

A Photographer’s Adventure

255

INTRODUCTION

From the moment the sun rises on the east coast of Australia, a vibrant colour palette is revealed, hour by hour, across the country. Ocean blues merge with white sandy shores that connect with green forests, rocky grey ridges and red desert plains. The palette has formed over millions of years, with environments carved and nurtured by the elements, shifting and shaping Australia’s landscapes.

On the western shores, locations like Gantheaume Point offer a rainbow of sandstone hues and fossilised dinosaur footprints that provide insights into a prehistoric past. On the East Coast, the Great Barrier Reef lies just offshore from the Daintree Rainforest and tropical islands, forming a vivid palette evocative of summer days.

A sightline, as the word suggests, is a line of sight that extends from an observer’s eye to an object or area; from the spectator to the spectacle. Across the vast and varied landscapes of Australia, the sightlines and the spectacles feel endless and infinite. The horizon stretches and extends; colours collide and combine; patterns compress and expand; and light constantly changes how we perceive and experience a landscape.

As a landscape photographer, I first picked up a camera in 2005, practising on beaches where the rolling swells provide an ideal repeat subject, and gaining confidence while working among the dunes and wildlife on Moreton Island in Queensland. I called the Whitsundays home for several years, sailing throughout the islands, learning underwater and aerial photography techniques and appreciating the outdoor lifestyle and vibrant colours of the Coral Sea. In the years since, my career has taken me abroad to capture glaciers, deserts and other-worldly environments from Chile to Greenland. Only when I had the chance to stop travelling in 2020 and spend more time at home did I become drawn to research the vast wonders and diverse terrain of this country.

It’s no secret Australia’s landscapes are filled with world-class natural beauty. Each landscape offers distinct colours and patterns created by the features and foundations that have been carved, shifted, blown, washed and eroded over time.

The Red Centre is an immediate standout when we think of Australia’s palette, with the region’s sandstone features exposing every shade of red, from blush to garnet. It’s the

tiny specs of sand, layers of rock, an abundance of vegetation species and the way they’ve weathered and withstood a changing climate that’s produced the array of hues we see today.

While initially I had hoped to do a giant lap of Australia to capture the images, border closures stopped this plan and it became two adventures instead. The first, north to south, travelling from Queensland through western New South Wales to Mungo National Park, then via Lake Tyrrell and the Great Ocean Road in Victoria, before taking the ferry across to Tasmania. After visiting every inch possible around Tasmania, I returned along the east coast of Victoria and NSW, stopping in at the South Coast, a place very dear to me, before heading home to edit and curate the photographs.

Not only do the natural elements produce a variation of tones, but the effect light has when it falls upon them will change how we encounter a landscape. Visiting somewhere on a cloudy day will result in the scenery appearing a different shade, typically more muted, than if you had witnessed it under the midday sun and clear skies. When we photograph during the golden hour after sunrise or before sunset, warmer tones of oranges, yellows and reds are enhanced. While if we dove into the sea, it’s the blues and greens that dazzle, as these wavelengths aren’t as easily absorbed by water as the warmer colours.

The second journey was about getting to the West Coast before the wet season took hold. My partner was along for the ride, and we drove straight for South Australia, then ventured up to Uluṟu. I had researched photography locations and hiking trails and spoken with the media team at Uluṟu-Kata Tjuta National Park. However, nothing prepared me for that first glimpse of Uluṟu when driving in. Having seen nothing but wide-open spaces for days on end, entertaining ourselves by waving to fellow motorists, counting kangaroos and keeping an eye out for anything of interest in the distance, the moment Uluṟu suddenly appeared was incredibly moving.

Driving around Australia and photographing its beauty means surrendering to the conditions – the raging storms, humid hazes, rainbows, gale-force winds, fog, sizzling heat and downpours. These conditions, which have been at the centre of stories told across generations, make you feel alive outdoors, and will see to it that we all experience a kaleidoscope of colours as we venture from the sea to the outback.

Growing up, and to this day, my dad has always played John Williamson’s music, which focuses strongly on the Australian bush and landscapes. I know every word of every song and as we drove towards Uluṟu, there was only one song I wanted to hear: ‘Raining on the Rock’, the version in which he collaborated with Warren Hedley Williams, an Arrernte man.

It was the moment I was looking forward to most on the trip, playing the song again and again, never losing its power as we drove around the base of Uluṟu that first time.

When travelling across the continent, it’s common to assume you’ll see a whole lot of reds and browns once you hit the central regions. While this is true to some extent, scattered among the dusty, open plains are pockets of greenery, rocky outcrops, beige dunes and lakes that change colour as the seasons progress. After a wet summer or seasonal rains, water will flow through the tributaries toward giant salt lakes or dry riverbeds that shift from crispy white tones to blossoming pinks, blues and greens as algae are activated and produce a stunning shimmer of colour when wet. Most striking when viewed from above, it’s scenes like this that motivate photographers to explore the patterns and textures visible in such expansive environments.

It rained a few hours after arriving. Not just a small shower; a storm swept through with fork lightning, torrential rain and gale-force winds that damaged planes at the local airport. We just so happened to be stuck at the sunrise viewing platform when it happened, and those thirty minutes were wild. At first, I was going to attempt to leave a camera on to film the storm, but I ran back to the car when I saw lightning hit close by. It was electric, in nature and feeling.

From a photographic perspective, I set off in search of colour palettes and patterns to showcase the beauty of Australian landscapes with an artistic approach. I wanted to peer deeper into each environment, capturing the finer details of a scene, documenting the environment and how it’s been weathered over time.

Soon after it passed, something magical happened. The rain on the rock started to fall. I’ve seen the videos and photos of water pouring down the sides of Uluṟu, but to witness the beginning as it slowly cascades, like a snake slithering

6

7

toward the ground below, was jaw-dropping. This day was the highlight of the entire adventure, I remember it so vividly.

Another highlight was photographing Gantheaume Point in Broome. Its sandstone features kept me occupied at sunset for three days in a row. I couldn’t stop taking photos of the patterns etched into the landscape that’s also home to dinosaur footprints. Arriving earlier each day, I was fixated with the shifting shades and changing light, the reds becoming richer the more the light dipped, and the vibrant yellows, pinks and whites getting stronger as dusk approached.

There are many more moments that will forever be imprinted in my memory. From seeing the sun rise behind Uluṟu while flying in a helicopter over Kata Tjuta, to watching the full moon reveal details and deep shadows within the lunettes at the Walls of China at Mungo National Park.

I woke up in some of the most special and secluded places.

On a pontoon floating over the Great Barrier Reef, for instance, where I dove straight into the water to photograph the morning light disperse across the surface of the sea.

And I saw fog rolling across Lettes Bay in Tasmania before I explored the World Heritage rainforests and waterfalls.

Across this majestic country, there were places where I felt like I was the only person for miles. Roaming the Sheringa dunes in awe of their sheer size, and hearing the rumble of waves crashing into the cliffs at Cape Bridgewater, then bouncing back to form massive collisions with oncoming sets.

The sum of my experiences witnessing Australia’s natural beauty isn’t lost on me. I spent an hour listening to birdsong and the whistling wind in the Valley of the Winds at Kata Tjuta. Due to the cultural significance of the site, photographs aren’t permitted, which perhaps made the moment even more immersive. After an eight-hour drive south from Kata Tjuta and Uluṟu, a dingo crossed the road ahead. As I passed and turned to look, the golden sun was setting behind its figure.

This book is a visual representation of those experiences: a collection of images documenting landscapes across Australia, photographed over two years. They capture some of the indescribable magic of Australia and its vibrant and varied palette and patterns, as the sightlines stretch across a seemingly never-ending landscape.

INTRODUCTION

From the moment the sun rises on the east coast of Australia, a vibrant colour palette is revealed, hour by hour, across the country. Ocean blues merge with white sandy shores that connect with green forests, rocky grey ridges and red desert plains. The palette has formed over millions of years, with environments carved and nurtured by the elements, shifting and shaping Australia’s landscapes.

On the western shores, locations like Gantheaume Point offer a rainbow of sandstone hues and fossilised dinosaur footprints that provide insights into a prehistoric past. On the East Coast, the Great Barrier Reef lies just offshore from the Daintree Rainforest and tropical islands, forming a vivid palette evocative of summer days.

A sightline, as the word suggests, is a line of sight that extends from an observer’s eye to an object or area; from the spectator to the spectacle. Across the vast and varied landscapes of Australia, the sightlines and the spectacles feel endless and infinite. The horizon stretches and extends; colours collide and combine; patterns compress and expand; and light constantly changes how we perceive and experience a landscape.

As a landscape photographer, I first picked up a camera in 2005, practising on beaches where the rolling swells provide an ideal repeat subject, and gaining confidence while working among the dunes and wildlife on Moreton Island in Queensland. I called the Whitsundays home for several years, sailing throughout the islands, learning underwater and aerial photography techniques and appreciating the outdoor lifestyle and vibrant colours of the Coral Sea. In the years since, my career has taken me abroad to capture glaciers, deserts and other-worldly environments from Chile to Greenland. Only when I had the chance to stop travelling in 2020 and spend more time at home did I become drawn to research the vast wonders and diverse terrain of this country.

It’s no secret Australia’s landscapes are filled with world-class natural beauty. Each landscape offers distinct colours and patterns created by the features and foundations that have been carved, shifted, blown, washed and eroded over time.

The Red Centre is an immediate standout when we think of Australia’s palette, with the region’s sandstone features exposing every shade of red, from blush to garnet. It’s the

tiny specs of sand, layers of rock, an abundance of vegetation species and the way they’ve weathered and withstood a changing climate that’s produced the array of hues we see today.

While initially I had hoped to do a giant lap of Australia to capture the images, border closures stopped this plan and it became two adventures instead. The first, north to south, travelling from Queensland through western New South Wales to Mungo National Park, then via Lake Tyrrell and the Great Ocean Road in Victoria, before taking the ferry across to Tasmania. After visiting every inch possible around Tasmania, I returned along the east coast of Victoria and NSW, stopping in at the South Coast, a place very dear to me, before heading home to edit and curate the photographs.

Not only do the natural elements produce a variation of tones, but the effect light has when it falls upon them will change how we encounter a landscape. Visiting somewhere on a cloudy day will result in the scenery appearing a different shade, typically more muted, than if you had witnessed it under the midday sun and clear skies. When we photograph during the golden hour after sunrise or before sunset, warmer tones of oranges, yellows and reds are enhanced. While if we dove into the sea, it’s the blues and greens that dazzle, as these wavelengths aren’t as easily absorbed by water as the warmer colours.

The second journey was about getting to the West Coast before the wet season took hold. My partner was along for the ride, and we drove straight for South Australia, then ventured up to Uluṟu. I had researched photography locations and hiking trails and spoken with the media team at Uluṟu-Kata Tjuta National Park. However, nothing prepared me for that first glimpse of Uluṟu when driving in. Having seen nothing but wide-open spaces for days on end, entertaining ourselves by waving to fellow motorists, counting kangaroos and keeping an eye out for anything of interest in the distance, the moment Uluṟu suddenly appeared was incredibly moving.

Driving around Australia and photographing its beauty means surrendering to the conditions – the raging storms, humid hazes, rainbows, gale-force winds, fog, sizzling heat and downpours. These conditions, which have been at the centre of stories told across generations, make you feel alive outdoors, and will see to it that we all experience a kaleidoscope of colours as we venture from the sea to the outback.

Growing up, and to this day, my dad has always played John Williamson’s music, which focuses strongly on the Australian bush and landscapes. I know every word of every song and as we drove towards Uluṟu, there was only one song I wanted to hear: ‘Raining on the Rock’, the version in which he collaborated with Warren Hedley Williams, an Arrernte man.

It was the moment I was looking forward to most on the trip, playing the song again and again, never losing its power as we drove around the base of Uluṟu that first time.

When travelling across the continent, it’s common to assume you’ll see a whole lot of reds and browns once you hit the central regions. While this is true to some extent, scattered among the dusty, open plains are pockets of greenery, rocky outcrops, beige dunes and lakes that change colour as the seasons progress. After a wet summer or seasonal rains, water will flow through the tributaries toward giant salt lakes or dry riverbeds that shift from crispy white tones to blossoming pinks, blues and greens as algae are activated and produce a stunning shimmer of colour when wet. Most striking when viewed from above, it’s scenes like this that motivate photographers to explore the patterns and textures visible in such expansive environments.

It rained a few hours after arriving. Not just a small shower; a storm swept through with fork lightning, torrential rain and gale-force winds that damaged planes at the local airport. We just so happened to be stuck at the sunrise viewing platform when it happened, and those thirty minutes were wild. At first, I was going to attempt to leave a camera on to film the storm, but I ran back to the car when I saw lightning hit close by. It was electric, in nature and feeling.

From a photographic perspective, I set off in search of colour palettes and patterns to showcase the beauty of Australian landscapes with an artistic approach. I wanted to peer deeper into each environment, capturing the finer details of a scene, documenting the environment and how it’s been weathered over time.

Soon after it passed, something magical happened. The rain on the rock started to fall. I’ve seen the videos and photos of water pouring down the sides of Uluṟu, but to witness the beginning as it slowly cascades, like a snake slithering

6

7

toward the ground below, was jaw-dropping. This day was the highlight of the entire adventure, I remember it so vividly.

Another highlight was photographing Gantheaume Point in Broome. Its sandstone features kept me occupied at sunset for three days in a row. I couldn’t stop taking photos of the patterns etched into the landscape that’s also home to dinosaur footprints. Arriving earlier each day, I was fixated with the shifting shades and changing light, the reds becoming richer the more the light dipped, and the vibrant yellows, pinks and whites getting stronger as dusk approached.

There are many more moments that will forever be imprinted in my memory. From seeing the sun rise behind Uluṟu while flying in a helicopter over Kata Tjuta, to watching the full moon reveal details and deep shadows within the lunettes at the Walls of China at Mungo National Park.

I woke up in some of the most special and secluded places.

On a pontoon floating over the Great Barrier Reef, for instance, where I dove straight into the water to photograph the morning light disperse across the surface of the sea.

And I saw fog rolling across Lettes Bay in Tasmania before I explored the World Heritage rainforests and waterfalls.

Across this majestic country, there were places where I felt like I was the only person for miles. Roaming the Sheringa dunes in awe of their sheer size, and hearing the rumble of waves crashing into the cliffs at Cape Bridgewater, then bouncing back to form massive collisions with oncoming sets.

The sum of my experiences witnessing Australia’s natural beauty isn’t lost on me. I spent an hour listening to birdsong and the whistling wind in the Valley of the Winds at Kata Tjuta. Due to the cultural significance of the site, photographs aren’t permitted, which perhaps made the moment even more immersive. After an eight-hour drive south from Kata Tjuta and Uluṟu, a dingo crossed the road ahead. As I passed and turned to look, the golden sun was setting behind its figure.

This book is a visual representation of those experiences: a collection of images documenting landscapes across Australia, photographed over two years. They capture some of the indescribable magic of Australia and its vibrant and varied palette and patterns, as the sightlines stretch across a seemingly never-ending landscape.

23

23

50

51

50

51

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163

162

163