In the lead-up to the announcement of Chelsea Gustafsson’s representation by Michael Reid Berlin, the gallery team visited the artist’s studio in the Victorian coastal town of Barwon Heads to discuss the ideas, experiences and recurring motifs that shape her distinctive painting practice.

“Painting for me is a contemplative response to the news and events going on in the world, the books I’m reading, and podcasts and music I’m listening to,” says Gustafsson in the resulting profile, now available to explore below alongside a special online release of newly available paintings. “Often, I find myself drawn to an object or image and it’s only through the repetition of portraying it that I begin to understand its presence in my work.”

To sign up for early previews and priority access to forthcoming bodies of work by Chelsea Gustafsson, please email colinesoria@michaelreid.com.au

What were some of your early creative influences?

My earliest influences came from connections with artists working in 3D. I grew up in a small rural community and in my early teens I was introduced to a couple of artists that were living in a little hut they’d built in the Snowy River National Park. They would have been the first working artists I’d encountered, and I suppose they took me under their wings and introduced me to ceramics. Then later in my twenties I met another couple of artists, Dean Colls and Louise Skacej, who trained me up as their studio technician. I got to discover a wide variety of techniques and skills, and had the opportunity to work on some amazing projects with them. So although my passion has always been with painting, I would say through these connections it normalised the idea of being an artist, especially since we’re talking about life before the internet and access to the infinite variety and examples of contemporary artists now.

What have been some of your favourite career experiences?

In 2024, two of my paintings were acquired by the City of Melbourne’s Art and Heritage collection, which was unexpected and a lovely surprise. While I don’t usually recognise it at the time, getting the opportunity to exhibit a body of work or a piece for an art prize is often a highlight in itself. In the moment, I’m caught in the process of meeting a deadline and being as thorough as I can, but with hindsight and distance it’s often a pleasing surprise to look back on what I produced. Completing a series usually means preparing and exploring ideas for the next one, asking how I can refine what I’m doing better or what areas can I push and explore further. After every show I often think ‘well that could be the last one!’. I don’t take any of these opportunities for granted, tomorrow is unpredictable.

Could you tell us about some of your recent bodies of work, from Seated (2020) and Chairs (2023) through to Glimpse and Onlookers (2025)?

The development through these series sees the chair going from being a hero piece through to a supportive element and then scaled down and introduced as an object on my studio workbench alongside other elements brought into these scenes. Since initially introducing postcards as another prop or object, I’ve been enjoying exploring the use of my own drawings and paintings to add a layer of an image within an image. It’s a little bit meta I guess. One body of work usually evolves into the next, and along the way new elements tend to appear like the kitsch porcelain ornaments in Onlookers that reference news stories on the environment.

“Painting for me is a contemplative response to the news and events going on in the world, the books I’m reading, and podcasts and music I’m listening to. Often, I find myself drawn to an object or image and it’s only through the repetition of portraying it that I begin to understand its presence in my work.”

Could you tell us about the suite of works you created in the lead-up to the announcement of your representation by Michael Reid Berlin?

While this body of work is still in the process of being made and I’m still feeling out what is working and what will be discarded, overall I feel like it has a theme of light humour and hope. A simple little vase with a smile on it seemed to kick things off – it shuffles around my workbench among shiny orbs and disco balls and pot plants, books, notes and boxes. My studio space and working practice are quite unruly but from this I like building quiet, contemplative scenes. I used to feel a bit cynical about the word hope; I related it to despair and being inactive. However, it’s not a new theme throughout the history of art and has been used to encourage resilience, inspiration, activism and positivity during uncertainty. I love this little quote by John Berger on Rebecca Solnit’s book Hope in the Dark; he says “…hope is not a guarantee for tomorrow but a detonator of energy for action today.” I don’t want to make works with hard messages or instructions, just simple images to resonate with and remember the worthiness of optimism and inspiration.

What other projects are you looking forward to working on in the coming year?

I’m working on two solos this year and have one on the calendar for next year, so sometimes my head forgets to be in the here and now. I would love to make time for some drawing and painting outdoors. I’m not at all comfortable doing it. I recently spent a day with artist Stacey McCall drawing in the You Yangs. I was simultaneously completely at peace sitting under the trees and terribly out of my comfort zone, attempting quick little representations of the landscape. I’d like to keep exploring new things like this to upset the predictability of what I know or what I think I know. Surprises add excitement.

Could you tell us about some of your early creative influences?

I was fortunate to attend art school in my mid-twenties. It took considerable effort to get there, and I was determined to gain as much from the experience as I could. I have loved art since childhood. Experiencing and viewing art brought me joy, and making art became one of my primary forms of expression.

My degree was in Visual Arts Education at the College of Fine Arts in Sydney. Studio practice was strongly encouraged, and I took full advantage of that opportunity, majoring in life painting during my early studies.

Could you tell us about your relationship to the landscapes that have recurred in your work?

For the past fifteen years I have lived in the rural town of New Norfolk. Situated above the Derwent River, my studio looks beyond the town limits toward distant blue mountains. Before beginning work each day, I spend an hour or two walking along the riverbank.

It has become a daily meditation: observing the minutiae, the subtle changes, the passing seasons, and the life and flow of the river itself. After this time of reflection, I clock on – time in my studio is another day spent exploring what paint can do.

What was the starting point for your most recent series, The River?

The River combined both the rural landscapes through which the River Derwent flows and the vast watershed from which this 240-kilometre watercourse emerges.

The river carries this country’s DNA. Along with nutrient-rich sediment, it carries history – both ancient and recent. Like all rivers, its health reflects the health of the country surrounding it. Like all rivers, it tells a story.

Comprising seventeen works, The River included eight tondos, a format I have explored in previous exhibitions. I find them deeply satisfying, particularly the challenge of resolving compositions within the circular form.

Could you tell us the story behind your 2024 Hadley’s Art Prize work, Afternoon Below Table Mountain?

I begin planning exhibitions eighteen months to two years in advance. I like to consider how each work contributes to the broader narrative. Depending on scale and composition, a single painting can take months to complete.

Because of exhibition commitments, finding the time required to enter art prizes and awards can be difficult. In 2024, I entered the Hadley’s Art Prize, was selected as a finalist and was honoured to receive the People’s Choice Award for Afternoon Below Table Mountain.

In many ways, that work marked the beginning of The River, which followed two years later. The lake depicted beneath Table Mountain – Lake Crescent – stores the waters of the River Clyde, which eventually feeds into the River Derwent. It is a long journey that ultimately arrives at New Norfolk, beside my daily walking path, before joining the saltwater and flowing out to sea.

What ideas and subjects feel most inspiring to you at the moment?

Nothing is unconnected. Every day in the studio I learn something new – stories continue to unfold. I’m looking forward to my next exhibition, in Sydney towards the end of 2027.