Kelly Kondis paints from the collection of experiences, memories and local landscapes she is surrounded by in Melbourne's Sherbrooke Rainforest. Drawn to misty mountain-scapes, and rolling, atmospheric valleys and plains, her works evoke the fleeting moments found in shifting weather and slow moving light.
How would you explain your artistic style and approach to someone unfamiliar with your work?
While I’m deeply influenced by the Impressionists, my process is quite different. Rather than painting a specific place, I’m interested in capturing the feeling of an atmospheric moment; the mood, light, and emotion that linger long after a scene has passed. My work may sometimes resemble a recognisable landscape, but that’s less a conscious intention and more a reflection of my subconscious. What emerges on the canvas is often a memory, a sensation, or an emotional response to nature rather than a direct representation of it.
Did you follow a formal fine arts education, or are you self-taught?
Although I studied art throughout high school, I never pursued it formally at a tertiary level. For many years, painting remained a private sanctuary and something I created for myself or gifted to family and friends. It wasn’t until around six years ago that I began sharing my work more publicly and offering it for sale. My education has come through years at the easel: trial and error, conversations with generous artists I admire and the extraordinary access to knowledge that the internet has provided. It’s been a self-directed journey of continual learning and curiosity.
How has your work evolved over time?
Working from home in our family business gave me the opportunity to pursue a number of creative projects alongside painting, including renovating and hosting short-stay accommodation with my husband. Initially, I painted works designed to complement those spaces. however, when I began painting more consistently in 2020, something shifted. The forest surrounding my home and the rolling ranges beyond began to find their way into my work. Without consciously creating it, the landscapes I live amongst started emerging through abstract oil renderings, becoming unintentionally more realistic as time went on.
Do you follow a structured creative process, or is it more intuitive?
My process is highly spontaneous. I don’t paint en plein air or work directly from a single moment in time. Instead, I absorb my surroundings over days, weeks, and sometimes years. I walk through the forest where I live, travel both locally and abroad, and pay close attention to changing skies, weather and atmosphere.
When I arrive at the canvas, I work directly with oil paint from the tube, applying colour instinctively. The initial blending isn’t directional or planned; it’s an exploration. As that first layer begins to settle and dry, a landscape often starts to reveal itself. From there, I move closer, building layers of cloud, foliage, and texture without forcing a narrative. Eventually, I step back and view the work as a whole. Sometimes the final stage involves adding small highlights; other times it means removing details entirely. I continue that conversation with the painting until I reach the moment where it feels complete and I can finally put down my brushes.
What role does colour play in your work?
Colour is central to my work, though my palette remains intentionally restrained. I’m continually drawn to the hues found in nature at its most harmonious, particularly where land and water meet. Those subtle shifts in tone, atmosphere and light create a sense of calm and connection that I strive to capture within each piece.
What’s the best piece of creative advice you’ve ever received?
It’s less a piece of advice I received directly and more a perspective I discovered through The Creative Act by Rick Rubin. It has become something of a creative bible for me. Whenever I’m feeling stuck, uninspired, conflicted, or disconnected from my work, I return to it. I’ve read it countless times and often listen to the audiobook, trusting that the insight I need will reveal itself when I’m ready to hear it.
One idea from the book that continues to resonate is: “Follow your own excitement, not the audience’s.” I believe there is something profoundly authentic about creating from genuine curiosity and passion. When artists pursue what truly moves them, the right audience inevitably finds its way to the work.
If you weren’t an artist, what do you think you’d be doing?
Probably what I was doing before I committed to art full-time: short-stay hosting. I’ve always loved creating spaces that allow people to step away from everyday life and experience somewhere with a sense of comfort and character. There’s something deeply rewarding about sharing a home and its surroundings with guests and giving them the opportunity to reconnect, rest and create memories of their own.
What do you like to do when you aren’t painting?
Beyond spending time with family, friends and my dogs, I’m happiest when immersed in creativity. Either my own or someone else’s. I love gardening, reading, film, renovating, travelling and practising yoga. I’m endlessly inspired by the act of making and by experiencing the creativity of others in all its forms.
Which mediums do you prefer working with, and what draws you to them?
Oil paint is my primary medium. I’m drawn to its richness, depth and ability to be worked over time. The slow drying process allows me to build layers gradually and create the atmospheric landscapes that have become central to my practice. I also enjoy working with charcoal and soft pastel, but because I favour the flexibility and scale of stretched canvas, I find myself returning to oils again and again.
Where do you create your work, and what do you love about that space?
My studio is wonderfully fluid and tends to move around depending on our latest renovation project and where the light is best. At the moment, we’re restoring a former lodge in the Dandenong Ranges, and I’m always searching for spaces with large windows that allow me to look out into the forest.
My dogs are constant studio companions, so a comfortable spot for them is as essential as my paints and brushes. I usually work surrounded by podcasts, audiobooks, or music and I often have several paintings in progress at once. Four large easels rotate through the space, allowing works to develop slowly in layers while each painting is given the time and quiet it needs to evolve.
