Brisbane artist Krystal Bradford considers herself obsessed with colour – particularly it's ability to evoke emotions, or convey the essence of a place. It is colour that guides her pieces, inspiring the shapes and textures that form each composition.
Her works are multilayered, full of textured, imperfect mark making and symbolic nods to place and memory, encouraging viewers to sit with each piece and discover their individual depths.
Did you follow a formal fine arts education, or are you self-taught?
After leaving school, I studied a Bachelor of Fine Art at the Queensland College of Art and Design. I was then selected for the Fresh Cut graduate exhibition at the Institute of Modern Art, which gave me the opportunity and confidence to continue exhibiting. Later, I completed a Bachelor of Education (Secondary) so I could teach art alongside my own practice.
My mum was an artist, so I grew up surrounded by art and creativity. Moving from studying art at high school into formal tertiary study felt like a very natural progression. Art has always been a constant in my life—through studying, teaching, raising a family and now focusing more fully on my own practice.
How has your work evolved over time?
It’s fascinating to look back and see how my work has changed, while also recognising the things that have always been there. In high school, my work was more figurative, but shape was already a kind of secret language for me. At art school, I continued exploring the figure and landscape through shape and colour. By my final year, the work had become much more tactile. I was researching Tracey Emin and exploring textiles, pattern, fabric and installation.
Even then, I usually began with something personal—a photograph, an object from home, a familiar place or a figure. My natural instinct was to distort and abstract the original image, turning it into shapes and using colour to create a feeling rather than simply describing what I could see.
That instinct has stayed with me. I continued painting while teaching art, and over the past few years my practice has become a much greater focus in my life. The shapes are now bolder, the colours are more heightened, and the paintings have developed into imagined “scapes” that bring together personal memories, the human experience, cultural references and a sense of place.
Where do you create your work, and what do you love about that space?
I work in a small, purpose-built studio at home. It’s my escape—a place where I can step away from everything else and become completely absorbed in the work.
One of my favourite things about the studio is the skylight. Each day, I walk in, stand underneath it and look up. It’s become a small ritual that helps me pause and focus before I begin.
The studio isn’t pristine, but that’s what I love about it. It has paint on the checkerboard floor, brushes in different states, water jars, palettes and stacks of art books. My children’s drawings are tucked into corners, and collected objects and personal treasures are scattered throughout the space. I paint on unstretched canvas taped directly to the wall, and I also have two easels that I rotate depending on what I’m working on.
Peaches, my dog, is usually nearby, sunning herself on the deck and occasionally barking to remind me she’s there. The studio feels lived-in, layered and deeply personal. It isn’t separate from my life, it carries traces of my family, memories and the things I collect, which all find their way into my work in one form or another.
What are your go-to materials, and do you have any unconventional tools in your practice?
I mainly work with acrylic paint on unstretched canvas, but the tools I use can be just as important as the paint itself.
I have a real love for cheap, scratchy acrylic brushes—the worn-out ones most people would probably throw away. They create marks I can’t achieve with a perfect new brush. When I drag them through thicker paint, they leave scratchy webs, tiny pathways and map-like textures across the surface.
I enjoy the unpredictability of those marks. They stop the work from feeling too controlled and often take a painting somewhere I hadn’t planned. Sometimes it’s the most imperfect tool that creates the most interesting moment.
