Reflections from Uluṟu
December 2025 · Northern Territory, Australia
Australia has always felt to me like a treasure chest, filled with extraordinary places, wonderful people and discoveries waiting to be made.
Some places stay in our imagination for years before we finally find ourselves standing there. For me, Uluru was one of those places. I had lived in Australia for many years, yet had never made it to the Red Centre. The right moment never quite arrived. And then, in December 2025, almost unexpectedly, I was there.
Looking back, perhaps the timing meant more than I realised.
For nearly eleven years, I worked from the same place in Sydney. Those years held great happiness, and difficult times that taught me more than I could have anticipated. Then, in 2024, I moved into a new space, and the first year became a time of quiet reflection. I kept wondering how to bring together the many colours of my life, and how to share the beauty I see in the things I love.
Standing before Uluru, none of that needed an answer. A vast red earth, an endless sky, and a great rock that changes colour with every shift of light. I had seen it in photographs many times, but I didn’t need words like “the majesty of nature.” Simply looking was enough.
I have thought about the idea of a centre for most of my life. Since childhood, through different philosophies and beliefs, balance and moderation have stayed with me. Holding the middle of a seesaw without tipping to either side is harder than it sounds. Work and life, relationships, the steadiness of one’s own heart: all of it asks the same of us.
But I have come to believe that a centre is not a place where you stand perfectly still. Some days you move forward, some days you step back. Some days you feel you have grown, and others you feel you have returned to the beginning. Yet seen across a long span of time, a life can still drift, little by little, upward.
There is a film called Crying Out Love, in the Center of the World. I have never seen it, but standing before Uluru, I found myself thinking about those words — the centre of the world. Perhaps I was standing somewhere near the middle of my own life, between all that had brought me here and all that was still waiting to unfold.
Love has always been at the heart of my life. I thought about what it means to find someone with whom I genuinely wish to share the years ahead — to live together, grow older together, and find comfort in one another’s presence. There is something deeply meaningful about discovering that kind of companionship.
I also thought about my family. Being a daughter and an older sister will always be part of who I am. Yet as life moves forward, I have come to understand that loving those closest to us also means respecting their individual paths. We can continue to care for and support one another, while allowing each other the freedom to make our own choices.
What struck me most about Uluru was not simply its size, but the softness of its presence. I had visited the Grand Canyon and admired its extraordinary scale, yet it had not moved me in quite the same way. Uluru felt different. Its gently curved forms, the openness of the surrounding land, and the vast horizon gave me an unexpected sense of comfort and space.
I was equally fascinated by the restraint of its colours. The red earth, golden grasses and blue sky formed a simple palette, yet the landscape was constantly changing. As the light shifted, the rock moved through shades of orange, rust and deep violet. There was no need for an abundance of colours. Nature seemed to create endless beauty from just a few, and I found myself drawn to that quiet sense of harmony.
The same landscape, moments apart — its colours quietly changing with the passing light.
I felt a quiet sense of peace in that simplicity, as though the vastness of the landscape had given my thoughts room to wander, without asking me to reach any particular conclusion.
That evening, I visited Field of Light. As darkness settled over the desert, thousands of tiny lights began to glow across the landscape. It was fascinating to see how human imagination, art and modern technology could come together in such a natural setting. The colours reminded me of the expressive beauty of Van Gogh’s paintings, and I found myself thinking about the different ways we perceive and interpret the world around us.
Field of Light, Uluṟu, December 2025
We all see the same landscape differently, and each of us finds our own way to express its beauty. Some through painting, others through music or light. For me, much of that fascination has always been found in gemstones and jewellery, where colour, light and the imagination of the human hand come together in endlessly different ways.
Each of those lights was small on its own, yet together they created something extraordinary. Perhaps our lives are not so different. A fleeting encounter, a treasured object, a journey, an act of kindness or a memory may seem insignificant at the time, but together they become part of who we are.
At Uluru, I felt grateful for the life I had lived and the people who had been part of it. The happiness we shared, the difficult moments we came through, and the kindness I had encountered along the way all held their own meaning. Above all, I thought of the people I love. Whatever changes life may bring, love has always remained at its centre.
I did not leave Uluru with answers to every question. There was still much I wanted to learn, create and experience. But standing somewhere near the middle of my life, I felt more at ease with the years behind me and more curious about those still ahead. I wanted to carry forward what I had learned, while leaving room for new discoveries and unexpected possibilities.
Perhaps this is also where Atelier Lily begins. Not with a grand plan, but with a wish to observe the world more closely, preserve the memories and experiences that have shaped my life, and share the beauty I continue to discover in people, places and things.
I was glad to have shared this journey with Susan, Paul and Trent.
Perhaps that was what the centre of the world meant to me, at that particular moment in my life.