When I stepped onto the beach at Chelsea in Melbourne, just 500 metres from the Chelsea train station en route to the Mornington Peninsula, I expected to be see the same azure and cerulean waters I’m used to seeing from the terrace outside my home in New Zealand. Instead, I was confronted by the steely platinum waters — more grey than blue — that seemed quite content to have the sky meet it and endeavour to become one with it.

So surprised was I to witness such a bland seascape that I was immediately mesmerised at the sight of the orange-red rust, the colour of cinnamon and saffron, on the wharf. Much as I love my iPhone 5s, it’s not quite the same as my Canon 5d MkIII.  Nevertheless, there is no room for disdain since it is this humble phone that has allowed me to capture the evidence of oxidation — this vermillion, set against the white iron posts, shouts its vibrance in as much as its colour symbolises. Vermillion, oftentimes honoured as the colour of life and eternity, is associated with love, marriage and religion. Here, its brilliance contrasts the sameness of the sky and the water on Port Phillips Bay, as it stretches the length of the wharf that heads out to the horizon.

In praise of colour, I have never been more grateful for rust and in such full admiration of it.