
SOUTHERN OCEAN LODGE K.I
Ten minutes up the headland trail from Southern Ocean Lodge, the bush gives way.
Six years after the fires, it’s back. Thick, green and slightly feral.
Then the cliff. A sheer drop to the Southern Ocean. Big, cold and brooding. The water is clear around the rocks, then turns deep blue, almost black, disappearing towards Antarctica. Long swells roll in, carrying the cold contempt of something that had never needed us. I stood there for a while, not thinking. Just being. No houses. No roads. No boats. Nothing man-made for miles. I breathed deeply. Too deeply, probably. Like I’d just escaped a lifetime sentence indoors.
I felt a strange reverence for the whole thing. The lot of it. Gosh, this world is magnificent, I thought. I was suddenly gripped by emotion like some unhinged hippy who’d got their microdose wrong. I wiped away the beginning of sweaty eyes, pulled myself together and adjusted my jacket.
Then I walked on.
There wasn’t much else to do.
The earth had already said enough.
Oil on stretched canvas / 60cm x 60cm / framed in flooded gum and ready to hang.
* This painting is still drying and will not be ready to ship until late December 2026.
"Bridie's paintings invoke the beauty and intrigue of the landscape. She captures the snow, catches the light and conveys the mood of the sea".
Well worth the wait, I’m over the moon!! Your art and vision will bring much joy to many!!! Thank you Bridie!
I'm happy. I cannot find the words to tell how much I'm happy. Be sure I'll take care of it.
"Where dreams are made.... she's a stunner!"
"Thank you, thank you, it came perfect, love it"
Bridie O'Brien
Artist
Bridie O'Brien. Beobe. Short for B.O.B.
I was born in Young, NSW. Sheep and wheat country. Dust storms. Eldest of six in a split and patched family. An upbringing brimming with hard lessons, adventure and self-reliance.
I went to Sydney on a music scholarship and swapped paddocks for stages.
I have pulled cables through dark venues at 3 am. Called shows from the wings. Directed live television broadcasts. Managed teams across national roadshows. Travelled solo abroad extensively. Made a record on a remote Caribbean island.
I ride motorcycles and grow my own vegetables. I've played guitar at festivals here and overseas and written and released three studio albums. Music was never a hobby. It was oxygen. It carried me across continents and, in the end, led me back to the visual.
Art kept circling patiently. In 2020, when the stages went dark, I stopped pretending and chose painting fully.
Now I work in thick oil, cut in with a palette knife. I paint the places that have carved themselves into me. Headlands. Back roads. Snow country. Beaches that taste of salt. I am not chasing photographs. I am chasing the pulse beneath them.
Every landscape is lived and felt first. I stand in it. I feel the temperature shift. I notice the light, the shade. Then I paint it by hand. One of a kind. Pure oil. Clear vision.
Learn more about Bridie in The Beobe Story section.