I’m here at the beautiful Scrub Hill, a historic bluestone, Range View Church that has stood in the volcanic hills near Daylesford since 1869. It’s just a breathtaking subject. A lot of people can draw what they see; they can copy a photograph with amazing skill. But the real question, the one I've spent a lifetime figuring out, is how do you capture the soul of a place? How do you translate the feeling of the sun on your face, or the sheer weight of history in the air, onto a simple sheet of paper?
Well, today, I'm going to show you how I do it.
Let's begin. I’m sitting out here on the lawn with a magnificent view of the church. The first temptation is always to try and cram everything in—the whole building, the trees, the sky. But that’s thinking like a camera. An artist has to choose a focus. What’s the most compelling part of the story?
For me, it’s the sun is catching the edge of the bluestone, highlighting its rough texture against those beautiful, tall, leaded windows. That contrast between heavy, rugged stone and delicate, light-filled Australian sky—that’s the heart of this building’s character.
So, I position the page. I’m thinking about the negative space, the empty parts of the page that will give the drawing some room to breathe. The first lines are everything. They're the scaffolding for the whole piece. I’m not measuring; I’m just looking. Feeling the angle of the roofline, the strong vertical lines of the walls.
With the fountain pen, I start. The touch is light at first... I’m finding my way. See how a tiny change in pressure can shift a line from a whisper to a statement? A lighter touch for the stones catching the sun. A firmer, more definite line for the deep, sharp shadow under the eaves. I’m not drawing every single stone. That would be boring for me and for you. I’m just suggesting their texture and pattern. I’ll draw a few with care, and your mind will fill in the rest. That’s the poetry of line work.
The First Wash - Capturing Light and Stone
The ink is dry now. This ink dries incredibly fast, but you can always test a little corner. Now, it’s time for the first watercolour wash. This is where a lot of people get nervous. But you just have to be brave.
I'm mixing my colours, and I’m not just using grey for the bluestone. If you look closely, the stones are full of colour, even muted purples in the shadows. I'm starting with a very light, watery wash of yellow in the medium light areas.
Building Layers, Detail, and a Master's Tip
Watercolour is a patient medium. We need to let that first wash dry completely before we do anything else. Now, we can add the second layer: the shadows. This is what will create depth and make the building feel solid.
I’m mixing a darker, richer version of my stone colour, with more blue and maybe a touch of burnt sienna to deepen it. This wash goes only in the shadow areas—under the eaves, on the side of the building away from the sun, and inside the deep-set window frame. See how the building instantly gets a sense of three-dimensional form?
And here’s a tip that has served me well for fifty years: don't be afraid of dark colours. So many aspiring artists use pale, timid shades. But it’s the contrast between dark and light that creates real drama and impact. The key, though, is to build your darks slowly, in transparent layers. If you go too dark too soon, you can't go back. You’re always working from light to dark, letting each layer of colour glow through the next.
Now that the main washes are in, I can come back with my fountain pen to strengthen a few lines and add small marks that suggest the rough texture of the stone. This play between the sharp ink line and the soft, atmospheric watercolour is the signature of this technique.
Finally, the soft pastels. This is the last five percent of the work, but it makes all the difference. I take a small piece of light-coloured pastel—maybe a pale cream or ochre. I use the edge to gently skim over the raised texture of the paper, just on the surfaces where the sun is hitting brightest. It catches the 'tooth' of the paper, creating a broken, sparkling effect that mimics how sunlight glances off old stone. It’s a final kiss of light that a brush just can’t replicate.
The Reveal and Reflection
And there we have it. It’s not just a picture of a church. It’s the memory of a beautiful morning spent in conversation with history. It holds the crispness of the air, the warmth of the sun, and the quiet, stoic presence of this 19th-century building.
You can see all the layers—the committed ink line, the luminous washes of watercolour, and that final, sparkling touch of pastel. It tells a story. And that is always the goal. Don't ever let chasing a perfect drawing rob you of the joy of the experience. This journal is for you. It’s a record of your life, seen through your own eyes.
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