Meet the artist whose brushstrokes bring our drive-in to life

There's something unmistakably Frederick about the posters that flutter on lampposts and shop windows around the fairgrounds each season. Bold colours, hand-drawn lettering, a knowing wink toward the films being shown — every poster carries a warmth you feel before you've read a single word. Long-time attendees tell you they spot a new one from half a block away, the same way you might pick out a familiar coffee van at your local arvo market.

Behind those posters is a working artist whose roots run deep in the same neighbourhoods our guests travel from. The collaboration began almost by accident, the way the best partnerships usually do. What started as a favour for a mate turned into a season-long project, then a multi-year friendship that has shaped the visual language of the entire venue. The story of how those posters came to be is less about commerce and more about two Frederick institutions slowly learning to trust each other's craft.

The tale matters because it speaks to something Australians hold dear: the idea that a great night out should feel personal, hand-stitched, and rooted in the people who turn up. In a country where outdoor cinema is practically a national pastime, from the heritage-listed picture gardens of Sydney to the pop-up screens on coastal Tasmanian lawns, the look of an event shapes whether it feels like home or just another booking in a calendar. Our poster artist understood that long before we did.

From a Frederick studio to a big outdoor screen

The artist, Eliza Wynn, grew up sketching in the back of her grandparents' antiques shop on Patrick Street, surrounded by hand-painted signage from a bygone era. That early exposure to commercial folk art stayed with her through art school and into a career painting murals for small businesses across the mid-Atlantic. When the call went out, almost on a whim, she agreed to design a single poster for a single night.

That first design was rough around the edges by her own admission. The surface she painted onto was a sheet of MDF rather than canvas, and the brush she grabbed was the wrong size for the lettering. Yet the piece had something the polished stock images never could: the unmistakable texture of a real hand at work. Guests who arrived that night still talk about the way the poster greeted them at the gate, and within weeks, requests for a second and third night followed. Eliza has now designed posters for nearly every screening we've hosted.

Her studio today sits in a converted carriage house a short drive from the fairgrounds, where she keeps a battered notebook full of briefs, rejected drafts, and film notes. The notebook is part mood board, part therapy journal, part production log. Visitors who drop by for a chat often end up staying for a coffee and a story about the films she's painting that month.

A style rooted in nostalgia and neighbourhood charm

Eliza's style leans hard into mid-century travel posters, hand-cut lettering, and the warm palette of an old drive-in marquee at dusk. She mixes in cheeky references to the local landscape: the curve of the Catoctin Mountains, the silhouette of a familiar barn, the colours of a Frederick sunset. The result feels less like advertising and more like a postcard from a friend.

For an Australian reader, the closest comparison might be the retro travel artwork that still shows up on the walls of beloved milk bars and corner pubs in places like Fitzroy or Newtown — design that refuses to chase trends and instead doubles down on character. Each poster is built around a hand-drawn illustration of the headlining film, surrounded by typography that feels lifted from a 1950s newspaper advertisement.

She is adamant about one rule: no digital shortcuts for the central artwork. Everything begins as pencil on paper, then ink, then gouache, before being scanned and finished in software. It's a slower way of working, but she believes the imperfections carry the soul of the piece. Audiences notice, even if they couldn't tell you why.

The journey from sketchbook to lamppost

The creative process begins about six weeks before a poster goes live. Eliza sits down with our programming team to chat about the films, the season, and the mood we want to set. Some nights call for bright, exuberant artwork; others need a moody, late-summer palette that hints at melancholy.

She'll then spend a week sketching thumbnails, returning with three or four strong directions for the team to weigh in on. There is always a healthy debate. Someone will champion the quieter design, someone will push for the louder one, and eventually a compromise emerges that surprises everyone. Once a direction is locked, she spends another two weeks finishing the illustration, scanning it at high resolution, and laying out the final composition.

The finished file heads to a small print shop in nearby Middletown, where the posters are run on heavy matte stock and hand-trimmed. From there, they make their way to coffee shops, barbershops, library bulletin boards, and anywhere else a neighbour might pause long enough to take in a date. We also drop a stack at the fairgrounds gate on the night itself, and they disappear faster than the popcorn. The way films are chosen plays a big role in how each poster turns out — you can read more about our film selection approach and the conversations that shape each double feature.

Posters that pull the community together

A poster is a small piece of public infrastructure. It tells a neighbour that something is happening nearby, that there's a reason to leave the house on a Friday evening, and that someone has marked the occasion with care. Eliza treats that responsibility with a seriousness that goes well beyond the gig itself.

She has donated original paintings to support a local animal shelter and framed posters to local school art programs. The posters double as fundraiser pieces during silent auctions, and the highest-bid original each year goes to a family who treats it like a heirloom. On a busy night, you'll see kids pointing at the poster on the gate and asking their parents which film is on next.

That ripple effect matters to us because we have always seen the venue as more than a screening room. A slice of every ticket quietly supports local causes, from the food bank to the volunteer fire company, and the posters play a quiet role in that mission. They are the friendly nudge that turns a person who was thinking of staying home into a person who grabs the keys and heads out.

A creative friendship with local stakes

The partnership between Eliza and the venue is now several years strong, and the trust has grown with every season. She pushes back when a brief feels off. We push back when a draft leans too far from the films. Out of that healthy friction comes work that neither of us could have produced alone.

The next project on the easel is a series of posters for a special anniversary screening in the warmer months. Eliza is already deep into research, pulling references from drive-in history across the country and beyond. There is talk of a fold-out poster, a hand-painted map of Frederick landmarks that double as film clues, and a giveaway print for the first hundred guests through the gate.

The spring double feature on the fairgrounds is shaping up the way a neighbourhood footy match brings everyone to the park, with families claiming their patches of grass well before the gates swing open. The first finished poster from that anniversary series will be unveiled on the gate at the last weekend of May, with Eliza on hand to chat about the process and sign a handful of prints for the early arrivals.