Steel Sanctuary Triptych
A Story of Resilience, Conservation, and Vision
On my 30th birthday, during one of the most challenging periods of my life, my best friend Zoe gave me a gift I didn’t know I needed—a visit to the Werribee Open Range Zoo.
I was rebuilding everything. I’d lost my beloved car. I was climbing out of heartbreak. VANTA was being stitched back together from scratch. My world felt heavy. But Zoe knew exactly how to lift me out of my own head. She handed me a break from the digital noise and threw me into the real, wild beauty of the natural world.
That day, we joined the guided safari bus tour through the African Plains. Our guide was brilliant—witty, insightful, effortlessly engaging. The kind of guide who makes you forget you’re on a public tour. As we rolled past giraffes, zebras, and antelope, something in me began to shift. There was a deep calm, but also a stirring.
Then I saw the zebra.
I was struck still. Hypnotised by its stripes—how they almost trick the eye, like a mirage made of monochrome. For a moment, I forgot everything. The lines blurred into each other. I couldn’t tell where the zebra ended and the air began.
I later realised: I didn’t just see the zebra. I saw myself—my aesthetic, my roots, my future. The VANTA design language—bold contrast, precision, elegance in simplicity—was right there in the hide of an animal. I was standing in the middle of my own design code, drawn by nature itself.
As we were leaving the zoo, I noticed a large, empty wall near the entrance. My mind lit up instantly. I could see it—three towering panels of laser-cut black metal, each honouring one of the animals that had just cracked me open. The vision was complete before I’d even left the grounds.
When I got home, I started sketching.
Months passed. Designs were refined. Each creature took on its own story. The leopard—graceful, solitary, powerful. The giraffe—stoic and statuesque, grounded and reaching at once. And the zebra—bold, mesmerising, rhythm in motion. I called the piece Steel Sanctuary. It became more than a triptych. It became a declaration: that beauty, survival, and design are all interconnected.
But the roots of this piece stretch back much further than that birthday.
As a child, I donated my first pocket money to wildlife conservation, sponsoring an endangered Malleefowl. I remember watching my grandfather preserve native bushland, carefully removing invasive species to protect what belonged. We walked those paddocks together—measuring trees, spotting rare birds, and writing notes. Nature was never abstract to me. It was legacy. It was our family’s unspoken responsibility. It was survival, design, and storytelling, all in one.
The animals at Werribee Zoo that day weren’t Australian, but the principle behind their protection was the same. Conservation is a universal language. It doesn’t stop at borders.
That’s why Steel Sanctuary feels so personal. It doesn’t just honour the animals—it honours the people, the memories, the pain, and the quiet rebuild behind the artwork. It captures the moment I remembered who I was, and what I’m here to build.
At the heart of this piece sits one quote, which came to me the moment the idea sparked:
“Look deeper into nature, and then you will understand everything better.” – Albert Einstein
It’s a philosophy I live by. And it’s etched into every line of the Steel Sanctuary.
Today, I visit Werribee Zoo regularly. Not just as a guest, but as a quiet observer, a grateful artist, and an advocate. The work they do—on the ground and behind the scenes—reminds me that true design is not just about aesthetics. It’s about presence. Legacy. Stewardship. And the kind of permanence you feel in your bones.
Steel Sanctuary is my thank you—to nature, to Zoe, and to the strength that lives quietly in all of us until one wild, silent day wakes it back up.
