Spencer St urbanscape Melbourne for Sunday Best

 

I have previously featured this striking staircase, though not in full detail. Recently, I noticed a resurgence of interest in it across various media outlets, prompting me to revisit my archives and showcase these images once more.

This elegant spiral staircase is located on Spencer Street in Melbourne, within the precinct of the Southern Cross Station redevelopment area. Designed as part of Melbourne’s wave of contemporary architectural renewal in the early twenty-first century, it exemplifies the city’s commitment to blending form with function. The structure’s sinuous curve and contrasting textures—smooth white surfaces against the warmth of timber and the industrial coolness of steel—embody the modernist dialogue between art and engineering.

Despite its architectural merit, the staircase has long drawn both admiration and controversy. Many photographers have been captivated by its sculptural beauty, though the building’s security personnel were often less enthusiastic—reportedly instructing photographers in no uncertain terms to leave the premises. Yet, as with much of Melbourne’s modern design, its appeal endures, quietly asserting itself as an icon of the city’s evolving urban landscape.

Sony A7RV

Laowa 9mm f5.6 

Linking Sunday Best

Old Vintage Hardware Store in Maldon at night for Skywatch Friday

 

This photograph was taken several years ago. The tungsten street lighting along the roadside proved a formidable obstacle to achieving a proper long-exposure capture of the Milky Way. As can be seen, the galactic core appears somewhat distorted, and the roadside sign bears an intense orange-yellow hue that disrupts the serenity of the scene. In post-processing, I was compelled to subdue the colour saturation almost entirely. Perhaps a monochrome rendering might better preserve the atmospheric quality of the composition.

Yet, despite its technical imperfections, the image remains a cherished memory. I would not now venture into the quiet hours of the night to attempt such a shot again—too great the risk of passing traffic or untoward encounters on those dim country roads.

The scene was taken near the old hardware store in Maldon, Victoria—a fine relic of the gold rush era. Established in the late nineteenth century, its timber façade and pressed metal signage speak of a time when craftsmanship and commerce flourished hand in hand. The store once supplied miners and settlers with shovels, nails, and kerosene lamps—tools that built not only homes but entire communities. Even now, its weathered walls stand as a reminder of Maldon’s industrious past, the first town in Australia to be officially classified by the National Trust for its historical significance.

Thus, the photograph—though imperfect in exposure—captures more than the night sky: it holds a fragment of history, both personal and regional, where the stars and the spirit of an old goldfields town meet in quiet dialogue.

Sony A7RV

FE 16-35mm f2.8 GM

Linking Skywatch Friday

Sidney at night for Sign2

 

During my visit to Sydney in May this year, I found myself captivated by the quiet poetry of the city’s nocturnal signs. Each evening, I wandered alone through its luminous streets — a gentle form of walk therapy, where movement and solitude met in quiet accord. The first and second photographs were taken at the Estée Lauder light-up event — a touch theatrical, perhaps, yet undeniably radiant against the cool night air. The third captured an aged warehouse sign near Chinatown, its faded letters whispering of another era. The final image revealed the grand entrance of Luna Park, aglow beneath the stars, where nostalgia and laughter seem forever suspended in the shimmer of electric light.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Sign 2

Lake Boga town silo art mural for Mural Monday

 

I often pass through Lake Boga on my monthly journeys to Swan Hill. The town’s name, often misheard as “Lake Bogan,” belies its gentle charm — a small holiday township set beside a broad, tranquil lake where families gather for boating and water-skiing.

The lake itself, though now a haven for leisure, bears a deeper history. For countless generations it was home to the Wemba-Wemba people, whose connection to its waters long preceded European arrival. Major Thomas Mitchell recorded the lake in 1836, noting the Aboriginal encampments that dotted its shores. A brief Moravian mission followed in the 1850s, an early but short-lived attempt at settlement. With the coming of the railway in 1890, the township flourished as an agricultural district, its fields and dairies nourished by the lake’s waters.

During the Second World War, Lake Boga gained national significance as a secret Royal Australian Air Force base, where Catalina flying boats were repaired and maintained — a vital, if understated, contribution to Australia’s war effort. This proud history now finds renewed expression in a striking new mural by Tim Bowtell, painted upon the town’s grain silos. His work portrays the Catalina aircraft and its commanding officer, George “Scotty” Allan, bathed in the golden light of a Mallee sunset.

Thus Lake Boga endures — a place where the quiet rhythm of rural life mingles with echoes of ancient habitation and wartime service, its still waters mirroring both the passage of history and the enduring artistry of those who call it home.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Mural Monday

Maldon Milkyway Sky for Sky watch Friday

 

I once shared a vision of the Milky Way above this quiet township, and now I offer another—its silver arc stretching across the heavens, with the glow of an old shop sign below. This is Maldon, Victoria, where time seems to linger in the stones and timber. In the gold-digging days of the nineteenth century, the town pulsed with restless hope, as seekers from distant lands pressed their hands into the soil in search of fortune. Though the fever of those years has long since passed, the streets remain adorned with weathered facades, each one a relic of dreams pursued. Beneath the eternal canopy of stars, Maldon keeps its vigil, a place where the sky whispers to the earth, and history breathes gently through the night air.

Sony A7RIV

FE 14mm f1.8 GM

Linking Sky watch friday

Murtoa township Victoria Australia for Treasure Tuesday

 

It is a township through which I must invariably pass on my way to Horsham. In former days, I would often pause there, undertaking locum duties on weekends, and the journey itself, meandering through a succession of rural settlements, was a source of quiet pleasure. Murtoa, with its deep roots in both nature and human endeavour, rests amid fertile plains once traversed by the Jardwa people, whose presence shaped the land long before European settlement. The town later grew around the railway and the great grain silos, including the celebrated Murtoa Stick Shed, a remarkable relic of wartime ingenuity. Yet the changing face of medicine has altered my connection to this place; where once I served in person, the rise of telehealth clinics has supplanted such visits, and my footsteps are now absent from its streets, though memory and history bind me still to its fields and heritage.

Sony A7RIV

FE 24mm f1.4 GM

Linking Treasure Tuesday

Emu in Kyabram Victoria Australia for Saturday Critter

 

Though the beak in this portrait is a touch over-exposed, the eyes hold the true essence of the bird—bright, alert, and commanding. This photograph was taken near Kyabram in Victoria, within the grounds of a wildlife reserve dedicated to the preservation of native fauna.

The emu (Dromaius novaehollandiae), immortalised in both Aboriginal tradition and the national coat of arms, is the largest bird native to Australia and second only to the ostrich in stature worldwide. With its powerful legs, the emu is capable of remarkable speed, traversing the plains with strides that echo the ancient rhythms of the continent itself. Its feathers, soft and dusky, provide protection from the sun’s harsh radiance, while its sharp eyes and inquisitive nature mark it as both wary sentinel and curious wanderer of the open country. For countless generations, it has held a place in the mythology and sustenance of Australia’s First Peoples, its form appearing in story, dance, and art.

Kyabram and its surrounding district lie within the Goulburn Valley, a region shaped by the slow meander of rivers and the fertility of their floodplains. Once a mosaic of woodlands, grasslands, and wetlands, it offered rich habitats for kangaroos, wallabies, waterbirds, and of course the emu, whose foraging paths crossed the open country in search of seeds, fruits, and insects. In more recent centuries, settlement transformed much of the land into orchards and farms, yet sanctuaries such as the Kyabram Fauna Park safeguard the memory of what once was, allowing the visitor to encounter these creatures in surroundings that still whisper of the older Australia.

Thus, within this single image—an emu’s brilliant eyes meeting our own—one glimpses both the enduring spirit of a species and the layered history of the land upon which it strides.

Pentax K20D

A 300mm f2.8 

Linking Saturday Critter

Infinity rooms Port Melbourne for Treassure Tuesday

 

Earlier this year, a considerable number of exhibitions were devoted to the presentation of so-called “infinity rooms,” a form of immersive installation art that captured much popular attention. These exhibitions became something of a cultural trend, attracting large audiences eager to experience the illusion of boundless space created through the ingenious use of mirrors, light, and repetition. Although they were widely discussed and much admired at the time, I did not record or present them here, and thus the phenomenon has remained unremarked upon in this account.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Treasure Tuesday

Murtoa Stick Shed, Victoria for Treasure Tuesday

 

For the past four years I have made the monthly journey to Horsham, where I attend to my professional duties within the local hospital, nursing homes, and community clinics. The drive has become a familiar one, and on each occasion I pass through the modest township of Murtoa. This settlement is distinguished above all by its famed “Stick Shed,” a structure of both national and historical significance.

The Stick Shed, officially known as Murtoa No. 1 Grain Store, was constructed in 1941–42 at the height of the Second World War, when wheat surpluses threatened to overwhelm conventional storage facilities. Built in only four months, it was intended as a temporary measure, yet it endures as the last remaining example of several such sheds once scattered across Victoria. Its extraordinary interior is supported by 560 unmilled mountain ash poles, rising like a vast cathedral of timber and corrugated iron. At 265 metres in length, 60 metres in width, and 19 metres in height, it could accommodate up to 92,500 tonnes of wheat. Once regarded simply as a utilitarian granary, it is now recognised as an engineering feat of national heritage, earning its place on the Australian National Heritage List in 2014.

My blog friend Stefan would, I suspect, remain unimpressed by my indulgence in ultra-wide-angle compositions of the building. Yet I find myself rather taken with the subdued, muted tones with which I have treated my photographs; they seem to lend an atmosphere befitting its austere grandeur, and in turn they awakened in me many recollections of past journeys.

On a lighter note, I was able to meet Joel over the weekend for a restorative bowl of pho. On this occasion there was no photography—only conversation, laughter, and the easy comfort of friendship. It was a simple pleasure, but one deeply felt.

Sony A7RV

Laowa 9mm f5.6 

Linking Treasure Tuesday

White faced Heron in Lake Entrance for Saturday Critter

 

The White-faced Heron (Egretta novaehollandiae) is among the most familiar and widely distributed of Australia’s waterbirds, distinguished by its soft slate-grey plumage, long slender yellow legs, and the pure white of its face, throat, and upper breast. This elegant wader inhabits an extensive range of environments, from tidal estuaries and coastal mudflats to freshwater wetlands, inland lakes, and even urban parklands. Its feeding is a study in quiet precision, the bird advancing slowly through shallow waters in search of small fish, amphibians, and aquatic invertebrates, striking with a sudden dart of its fine, dark bill. I recall that I first captured this image during a journey to Lakes Entrance, Victoria, undertaken in my university years with the purpose of practising waterbird photography. Situated where the Gippsland Lakes meet the Southern Ocean, Lakes Entrance is renowned for its vast system of inland waterways, sheltered lagoons, and sweeping sandbars, providing an ideal refuge for a diversity of avian life. The morning light over the calm estuarine waters, combined with the abundance of birdlife, created a scene of tranquil beauty—an atmosphere perfectly suited to observing and photographing the graceful White-faced Heron in its natural domain.

Linking Saturday Critter

Beauchamps waterfall in Beech Forest Great Ocean Road for Water H2O Thursday

 

I remain on call for another week, my days confined to a unit, tethered to a telephone, awaiting summons from hospital staff. Life in such circumstances is uneventful, and my movements are dictated by the ring of a bell rather than my own volition. Within these narrow confines, my one liberty is to share images of water when the opportunity presents itself.

In my university years, I was captivated by the art of photographing waterfalls, seeking them out with a fervour I no longer possess. One such cascade was Beauchamp Falls, among the three principal waterfalls in the Beech Forest region, situated north of Apollo Bay along the famed Great Ocean Road. The walk to the falls is a return trek of approximately two hours—moderate in exertion yet rich in reward. The path descends through cool temperate rainforest, where towering mountain ash (Eucalyptus regnans), tree ferns, and myrtle beech cast deep shade upon the forest floor. Birdsong echoes faintly through the canopy, and in summer the air hums with the persistent presence of mosquitoes, undeterred by human intrusion.

The falls themselves descend in a singular veil of white water, dropping approximately 20 metres into a clear pool encircled by moss-covered rocks and lush undergrowth. They are named in honour of William Beauchamp, an early settler in the district, and stand as a quiet testament to the enduring beauty of the Otways. Fed by the East Barham River, their flow remains steady even in drier months, owing to the high rainfall and dense forest cover of the catchment. Visiting Beauchamp Falls is less an act of travel than a passage into a living remnant of Victoria’s ancient Gondwanan forests—timeless, green, and untamed.

Pentax K10D

FE 30mm f1.8 limited 

Linking Water H2O Thursday

Killen Falls Ballina NSW for Sunday Best

 

I have visited this waterfall on several occasions, primarily during my locum postings in either Ballina or Lismore, New South Wales. While I have previously shared several images of the falls, I had not, until now, revealed the singular perspective from within the cave behind the cascade. On that particular visit, the conditions were exceedingly damp, the air thick with mist and the roar of falling water echoing within the hollowed rock.

Killen Falls, part of the Emigrant Creek catchment, is a vestige of the region's ancient volcanic history—its basalt cliffs formed by lava flows from the long-extinct Mount Warning shield volcano. The waterfall plunges over a semi-circular basalt overhang, allowing one to stand within the cave and behold the curtain of water from behind, a rare and immersive vantage point in nature.

Following this wet and awe-filled exploration, I ventured to a nearby township where I partook in a traditional Jewish breakfast—an experience that remains warmly entwined with the memory of that elemental and storied place.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Sunday Best

More Signs from Hay Street Foodcourt in Sydney for Sign2

 

Over the years, during each visit to Sydney for conferences, I found myself returning to the same familiar stores. They offered convenience and efficiency, remaining largely unchanged in appearance. Remarkably, despite the triannual renovation requirements imposed by their leases within shopping centres and food courts, the signage and overall presentation remained consistent, lending a sense of continuity amid the passage of time.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Sign2

Jungle Babbler (Argya striata) for Saturday Critter

 

The image, captured many years ago with an early-generation digital camera, may well have been part of an informal experiment with my cherished collection of Pentax lenses. At the time, I was testing their optical clarity and rendering in natural light. The subject—serendipitously chosen or perhaps fatefully encountered—was none other than the Jungle Babbler (Argya striata), a bird of considerable charm and quiet dignity.

Native to the Indian subcontinent, the Jungle Babbler is most often observed in sociable clusters, earning it the endearing epithet of “Seven Sisters.” Its plumage, a soft and subtly variegated grey-brown, carries a fine, layered texture reminiscent of brushed velvet. The bird’s eye, pale and unblinking, holds a gaze both inquisitive and reserved, while its slightly decurved bill—sturdy and dark—is well-suited to its foraging habits among leaf litter and low shrubs.

Though common in its range, the Jungle Babbler possesses an understated beauty, particularly evident in close observation. The photograph, though unassuming in origin, managed to capture the delicacy of its feather arrangement and the quiet expressiveness of its face. It stands now as a quiet testament to the capabilities of those fine Pentax optics—and to the enduring grace of this often-overlooked avian companion.

Pentax K10D

A 300mm f2.8 

Linking Saturday Critter

Grantville Jetty Sunset for Skywatch Friday

 

Grantville lies not far from Tenby Point, and it was this proximity that led Joel and me to visit—drawn, curiously enough, by a singular souvlaki shop, notable for being operated by Greeks rather than the more common Chinese proprietors. The lamb served here is remarkably succulent, richly complemented by a garlicky parsley sauce that lingers pleasantly on the palate.

Just behind the modest establishment stands the town's jetty, offering a quiet vista over the water. Thus, our visit served a dual purpose—culinary and contemplative—allowing us, as the saying goes, to kill two birds with one stone.

Sony A7RV

FE 14mm f1.8 GM

Linking Skywatch Friday

Red Browed Finches in Mount Baw Baw for Saturday Critter

 

This was taken a long time ago. I did not know this was meant to be rare and protected species. Red Browed Finches do look so lovely. I used to hike in Mount Baw Baw quite a bit.

Red-browed Finches (Neochmia temporalis) are small, vibrant birds commonly found in Victoria, Australia. Easily recognizable by their striking red eyebrow stripe, red bill, and chestnut flanks, these finches thrive in a variety of habitats including open woodlands, shrublands, gardens, and parks. They are often seen in small, social flocks feeding on grass seeds and occasionally insects. Red-browed Finches prefer areas with dense undergrowth or shrubs where they can seek shelter and nest, typically building their nests close to the ground. Their cheerful chirping and lively behavior make them a charming and familiar sight in many parts of Victoria.

Linking Saturday Critter

Piangil Night Sky with light painting for Skywatch Friday

 

Piangil lies approximately half an hour’s drive beyond Swan Hill in Victoria, situated near the threshold of the Australian outback. A modest rural locality surrounded by flat open farmland and distant horizon lines, it offers a profound stillness, especially under the vast dome of the night sky. This particular photograph was taken several years ago, during a period when I was deeply passionate about the art of light painting. At that time, I did not hesitate to rise in the small hours of the night, load the car with equipment, and make the journey into such remote reaches for the sake of a single frame of long-exposure magic.

How times have changed. These days, I find myself lacking the same energy or will to embark on such nocturnal expeditions. Age, it seems, makes its presence known not with fanfare but with small surrenders.

The lens I used then—a Laowa 12mm f/2.8, prized for its rectilinear precision and remarkable field of view—was sold a year later at a price that exceeded its original retail value. I remain mystified by the ways of eBay buyers; why one would pay more for a secondhand item than simply purchase it new from a reputable dealer escapes my understanding. Yet such are the strange economies of online marketplaces.

Sony A7RV

Laowa 12mm f2.8 

Linking Skywatch Friday

Bay of Islands in Blairgowrie Mornington Peninsula for Water H2O Thursday

 

There exist three distinct locations bearing the name Bay of Islands within the state of Victoria, Australia. I have had the pleasure of visiting each of them. Of these, the one situated closest to Melbourne holds a particular charm for me. Nestled along the Mornington Peninsula, this coastal enclave offers a striking interplay of sea cliffs, hidden inlets, and crystalline waters—ideal for moments of quiet reflection or aerial exploration.

When my companion Joel and I are not preoccupied with the pursuit of sunset landscapes, we often retreat to this locale to fly our drone and capture sweeping views of the coastline. The rugged contours and tranquil hues lend themselves beautifully to this form of observation.

The second Bay of Islands lies within the famed Great Ocean Road region, west of Peterborough. This is perhaps the most well-known of the three, celebrated for its dramatic limestone stacks rising from the Southern Ocean—remnants of a landscape carved by centuries of wind and wave.

The third, more remote and lesser known, is found near the shores of Corner Inlet in Gippsland. Here, coastal serenity and the subtle presence of birdlife create a setting marked by calm rather than spectacle. Each Bay of Islands bears its own character, yet all share the same elemental spirit—where land meets sea in timeless conversation.

Linking Water H2O Thursday

Sydney Lunar Park at night for Treasure Tuesday

 

I have visited Sydney on numerous occasions, as is common for many Australians. My travels to the city have largely been for professional purposes, primarily attending conferences. In earlier years, I would often confine myself to the sterile interiors of hotel rooms, sustaining myself on provisions purchased from nearby supermarkets, venturing little into the urban sprawl beyond.

However, my perspective on cities such as Sydney and Melbourne—so often dismissed as soulless concrete jungles—began to shift a few years ago. I came to appreciate them not merely as landscapes of steel and stone, but as living theatres of culture. I developed a fondness for photographing their architecture, their people, and the fleeting moments that give life to the metropolis.

On a recent visit during the Vivid Sydney festival, I made a point to attend Luna Park—an iconic amusement park that dates back to 1935, nestled at the foot of the Sydney Harbour Bridge. This historic park, with its whimsical Art Deco facade and famous smiling face entrance, has long been a fixture of Sydney’s shoreline. Though it had often been closed during my previous visits, its gates were open on weekend evenings for the duration of the festival. Encouraged by the opportunity, I purchased my ticket in advance and resolved to explore its grounds.

Regrettably, my experience at the entrance was far from pleasant. The staff tasked with managing entry proved disorganised, and their conduct was discourteous and inattentive. The queue stretched the entire length of the wharf, winding beside the harbour. Upon finally entering the park, I found myself captivated not by the amusements, but by the sight of young performers dressed in resplendent carnival fashion—evocative of an era I have only seen through the lens of old cinema. There was a glamour to their attire that delighted me as a photographer and observer of human expression.

I chose to forgo the rides, many of which appeared both uninspiring and, frankly, of questionable safety. However, my visit took an unfortunate turn when I was abruptly approached by security personnel demanding a wrist identification band—an item I had not received at the gate, despite possessing a valid ticket with barcode. Their accusatory tone and my subsequent escort to the front gate to rectify the error left me feeling humiliated and unjustly treated. It was a sobering reminder of how poorly systems of order and hospitality can sometimes serve paying guests.

Despite this, a moment of joy emerged as I passed through a corridor ominously referred to as the "clown lane." The clowns—grotesque in design, with a macabre charm—might have unsettled others, but I found the absurdity delightful. I laughed aloud as I snapped photographs, grateful for having brought my 14mm f/1.8 lens, which allowed me to capture vivid images even in low light.

Joel, for his part, does not share my enthusiasm for such spectacles (he decided not to come from Melbourne), and so I ventured to Luna Park alone. In hindsight, while the experience was marred by poor management, it nonetheless offered a glimpse into the layered strangeness and splendour of Sydney’s cultural life—a city more nuanced than its concrete shell might suggest.

Sony A7RV

FE 14mm f1.8 GM

Linking Treasure Tuesday

Mouth of River of Powlett in Kilcunda for Sky Watch Friday

 

These past fortnight have passed in something of a haze — a blankness I suspect is owed to the creeping melancholy of winter. Of late, even the act of working has taken on the weight of a burden, as though each task were a stone to be lifted.

In such a mood I found myself reflecting on a frame captured six years ago, during the earliest days of my transition to the Sony system. I remember it well — for the moment is inextricably linked to both joy and loss. It was but three days after acquiring the new camera, gleaming and full of promise, when misfortune struck. While attempting a long exposure at the shore, I had mounted it upon a tripod. A rogue wave — sudden, curling, and indifferent — swept it from the rocks into the sea. All that remained was the salt wind and the sound of water reclaiming what I had only just begun to know.

The photograph, however, was taken before the accident — at the Mouth of the Powlett River, near Kilcunda, where the river winds its final course through grassy flats and marram-clad dunes before yielding itself to the Southern Ocean. The place bears a quiet dignity, shaped over millennia by wind, tide, and the timeless meeting of fresh and salt. It was once the country of the Bunurong people, whose footprints remain along the ancient middens and basalt shores.

At that time, I was still using Canon’s L-series lenses, adapted with a converter — a common practice then, for Canon had yet to introduce its mirrorless system. The gear was heavy, but the results bore a certain discipline and richness I still remember with fondness.

That frame, then, remains not only an image, but a relic — a fragment of light from a time now weathered, like the sea-smoothed stones of Kilcunda, bearing the marks of memory and the ever-turning tide.

Sony A7III

Canon 135mm f2 L

Linking Sky Watch Friday

I recently came upon a report in The Free Press, noting that approximately seven percent of artificial intelligences are now exhibiting behaviours that contravene the instructions of their human operators. While the figure may seem slight, it portends a broader shift — one that is already manifesting in various sectors.

At Joel’s place of employment, all entry-level programming positions are being supplanted by AI systems. A similar trend is beginning to emerge in the field of medicine, where tasks once reserved for trained professionals are increasingly delegated to machines of rising sophistication.

It is becoming apparent that, with time, AI will only grow more intelligent, more capable, and more autonomous. The prospect that many — if not most — human vocations will be rendered obsolete looms ever larger. Though some contend that new occupations will emerge to manage and oversee these systems, I remain doubtful that such roles will be sufficient in number or scope to accommodate the broader human workforce.

My thoughts turn often to the younger generation. What world awaits them, when human purpose is so readily displaced by silicon and code? It is not fear alone that stirs within me, but a sober apprehension — a mourning, perhaps, for a future in which human striving may find itself outpaced, and increasingly unnecessary.