Fortress On Ranford Road (2024). A limestone wall rises in front of houses with black roofs, devoid of greenery, trees, and grass. The scene is marked by bland uniformity, an empty suburban scene devoid of life.
Houses in neat rows, all identical with black roofs, no trees, and no grass, highlight the changing nature of the Australian home. Once defined by front gates and gardens- spaces for neighborly interaction and a chance to grow and appreciate nature- today’s homes are squeezed into 177-square-meter blocks. With little to no eaves on the roofs, garages as the entry and exit point, these structures emphasize the shift toward uniformity and the fading connection between the everyday Australian and the environment, the very reason many are drawn to live in Australia in the first place.
Three four-wheel drives parked on a plastic turf lawn- a scene that reflects Perth's booming mining, oil, gas, and construction industries, alongside the sprawling roads that define its landscape. With oversized vehicles and garages prioritised above all else, this home embodies a culture where scale and function take precedence. The cars can’t even fit into the garage, and there is no space for beautiful gardens- only trucks on turf. This image illustrates how the city’s growth is shaped by size and utility, often at the expense of nature.
Waiting for Shade (Dayton)
A row of new houses, not a tree in sight. No shade for the people waiting at the bus stop. The sun beats down, moisture evaporates, and the land offers no comfort. This is the dry monotony of new suburbia — hot, flat, and designed without care for the human experience.
Rammed Gate
It looks like a sand bomb went off inside. A fenced-off, half-forgotten building site on the edge of the city — more sand than structure. With little else to do, youths break in and ride bikes through the dust. Can you blame them?
Sandpile in Alkimos
Pastel skies, a soft palette — but it’s beauty masking absence. A pile of sand sits like a placeholder for a future that’s always arriving. This is the aesthetic of sprawl: hollow, scattered, and ever-expanding.
Black roofs loom in the background, while these grass trees — native, resilient — cling on at the edge of cleared land. Why clear what already thrives? These trees ask for little, offer biodiversity, and hold deep cultural meaning. We bulldoze them anyway.
House and Land to Make You Smile
The sign promises joy. The fine print is missing. Many of these homes have 25-year structural guarantees — a ticking clock on materials, insulation, and livability. It’s propaganda in a sunny font, sold by developers with short memories and long margins.
Blue Steel Roofs (Dawesville)
Metal gleams in the afternoon light — blue steel stacked neatly, houses spaced barely a breath apart. Around them: more cleared land, more sand.
Dead End
A black fence marks the edge. On one side: suburbia. On the other: the coast. No buffer, no transition, just a hard stop — like someone decided that the ocean should stay out.
Kaya, Hello (Sign in Alkimos)
The sign greets you in Noongar — “Kaya, hello.” It speaks of caring for country, of reciprocity. But behind it lies bulldozed land, grid roads, and bare plots. It’s a contradiction written in vinyl — culture used as branding while the land is treated like waste.
Deteriorating House, Landsdale
A cheaply built house beginning to show its age — maybe it’s outlived its guarantee, or maybe it never had a chance. Around it, the kind of mature forest that once stood here has been erased. In its place: heat, dust, and concrete.
Sandpile in Alkimos (second image)
Sand wraps around new homes like a tide. You can see trees in the distance, remnants of a landscape that once held life. I walked through Alkimos once — the nature was stunning. And now, mostly gone.
den (Eden Beach Stage 36, Alkimos)
“Eden Beach” reads the sign — a name promising paradise. But in front of it, a burn mark scorches the sand. When there’s no infrastructure, no outlets, youths find their own. This is what the edge feels like.
Mitchell Freeway, Butler
Lanes stretch out endlessly, pre-widened for a future of more cars, more traffic, more distance between people. The city keeps stretching, and the road keeps chasing it.
We’re Getting Closer to the Beach (Dundee)
The sign teases proximity — you’re almost there. But what’s in between? A maze of estates, cul-de-sacs, and promises. The beach becomes a brand, not a place.
Petrol Station, Alkimos
A house across from a petrol station — no cafes, no civic spaces, just the hum of engines and the scent of fuel. In a mixed-use zone done well, people and place share space. Here, it’s just zoning by necessity.
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