KIRSTEN
Williamson

It’s a cold and drizzly day on the Sunshine Coast, water beads off the windscreens of the cars parked outside Kirsten’s house. The muffled bark of something large echoes down the path as I bang on the gate outside. I’m greeted by Kirsten, in double denim, dodging droplets of rain liberated by their collective weight on the leaves overhanging the garden path.

Kirsten works out of a spare room at her house, even on what is a fairly gloomy day, the light through the window is bright and soft. “As much as I love it, I like to be able to close the door on it,” she admits.

A 1:1 scale drawing of Frank Sinatra’s Lamborghini Miura and a profile of James Hunt’s helmet lean framed against the wall. “Art’s funny,” she muses. “One minute you think ‘oh I hate this’. You come back an hour later and you’re like ‘oh I love this.’ So, sharing is a challenge for me.”

The space is sparse. Framed black and white images discovered in her parents’ garage hang on the wall. A simple desk sits directly under the window with a handful of pencils arranged to the side.

A vertical stack of books collected on her European travels house images of icons and inspiration. Ralph Lauren, Paul Newman, Steve McQueen. “He’s just so effortlessly cool.” In an old jar on the window sill grows a water plant, a gift from her best friend’s garden.

A holographic disco board peeks out from behind the Miura. Kirsten’s first tabletop workspace. “Bought it from Bunnings – I covered it in school contact paper and jazzed it up a bit. It also doubles as a dance floor on special occasions.”