This painting commemorates a gentle rain that fell eight years ago in New South Wales, Australia—a rain that quietly awakened a dormant heart. In Brisbane Water National Park, life seemed to bloom anew. Long-lost beautiful memories suddenly came alive overnight.

Clusters of rare white waratah led the way, blooming boldly alongside other flowers. She seemed to hum softly, carrying the warmth and protection gifted by the gentle sunlight.

You took down the golden vase, untouched for a long time, holding the memories of past beauty—now feeling even more timeless. Clematis in shades of purple-blue and fiery red camellias joined in, their leaves circling the waratah like the skirt of a dress.

You pulled out the old sheet music and the boomerang-shaped harmonica, playing alone under the sunlight. So fully absorbed and enchanted, time itself seemed to stand still……

Years ago, I was still doing research at the university, while also tutoring undergraduates. The days passed in a blur—hurried, crowded, always slightly out of breath. Apart from snatching the odd moment to sketch some fleeting ideas, there was little time left for nature, or for stillness.

But then, on a holiday afternoon, after a quiet rain, the sunlight filtered through the forest—not harsh, but warm and subdued, as if softened by the lingering mist. It was in that moment, with the trees still dripping and the world holding its breath, that I saw it.

The silhouettes of the leaves—so light, so quiet—suddenly conjured a scene before my eyes. The composition came almost fully formed, like a memory returning not from the mind, but from the heart. That moment gave birth to the painting as it stands now.

What I wanted to capture was a feeling: the return of someone long gone, the quiet reappearance of old times, like a half-forgotten melody finding its way back into the air. And just then, as the image settled into place, so too did my heart—quiet, still, as if it had found its way home.

People often say the red waratah is the most beautiful. But to me, it is the white one that truly lingers in the soul—quiet, unworldly, like something that does not belong entirely to this earth. The red waratah reminds me of a girl weeping, her tears tinged with blood—a symbol of love given freely, of loyalty paid in sorrow. It is a moving story. Yet there is a deeper peace, I believe, in a girl who keeps her heart untouched, who walks through the world with innocence unspoiled.

That was the feeling I followed when I shaped this piece, drawing on the natural rhythm of the waratah’s growth. The scene you see in the painting does not exist in the wild—it is a dream-space, created to hold a mood, a silence I wanted to share. And yet, each element within it once truly lived; every object is real, but gently reimagined through a more tender lens.

The sheet music drifting across the canvas carries a tune of my own composition. Perhaps that is the most mysterious part of all. It is a melody shaped by longing—for stillness, for gentleness, for the hush of a childhood untouched by dust. A small hymn to the beauty of things unspoiled.

And the boomerang—of course—calls to Australia’s Indigenous spirit. Their lives, rooted in the land, the sky, the forest, were raw, elemental, and close to something we often forget. There is something childlike in that connection, something clear and unsullied. In this piece, the boomerang speaks to the music. They echo one another, both searching for the same quiet heart.

There are more stories woven into this painting, too many for one page. I’ve gathered them in 《The Beauty of Australia》.

                                                                                                                             —— A.G