If you had asked me years ago to write about myself as an artist, I would probably have quietly changed the subject. I’ve never been particularly comfortable putting myself into words — which, perhaps, explains why I’ve always preferred to express myself through drawing and painting instead.
Art has been a thread running gently through my life for as long as I can remember. As a child, I spent hours drawing, completely absorbed in my own little world. Like many things, though, life took over, and for a time that creative part of me was packed away, waiting patiently. It was not until a family holiday in Cornwall that I tentatively picked it up again — armed with a simple tin of pencils and a box of watercolours. That small beginning rekindled something I had not realised I had missed. I found myself drawn to landscapes, although my early attempts were often on the smaller side (partly artistic choice, partly a cautious approach to watercolour that never quite behaved as I expected!).
As a busy mum, painting came and went in pockets of time, before eventually being tucked away once more when I returned to work. My career took an unexpected turn into kitchen design — not the most obvious artistic path, perhaps, but one that allowed me to use my drawing skills in a practical and creative way. Through hand-drawn plans and elevations, I helped bring ideas to life for clients, giving them a glimpse of what their future spaces could become.
After several redundancies, I found myself at a crossroads and chose a different path — one that led me to care for my mum during her illness with dementia. That chapter was deeply challenging, but also profoundly meaningful. After losing her, I found myself returning to art, not as a hobby, but as something essential. My creative space became just that — a space to breathe, to process, and to rebuild.
Since then, I haven’t looked back. With better materials and a renewed sense of purpose, I began to develop my own style — one that leans towards playful, characterful landscapes, most often created in pastel, which has become my favourite medium. There’s something wonderfully immediate and expressive about it, that suits the way I see the world.
A few years ago, we moved to a cottage with a little stone outbuilding at the bottom of the garden. Which I turned into my studio — full of charm, slightly imperfect, and completely mine. It quickly became my favourite place; the kind of space where you lose track of time and emerge hours later, slightly paint-covered and very content. I was never truly alone in that space either — I was joined every day by my constant companion, Ruby, my much-loved dachshund who kept me company through countless sketches, commissions, and cups of tea. She is very much missed but remains part of the heart and spirit of that studio.
These days, I create both personal pieces and commissioned work. While I’ve been lucky enough to have paintings displayed in galleries locally, it’s the commissions that I hold closest to my heart. There’s something special about creating a piece that means something deeply personal to someone else. Whether it’s a beloved pet or a much-loved home, I never tire of seeing the moment a client first sets eyes on their painting — that smile is, without question the most rewarding part of what I do.
And if I’m honest, I still find it easier to say all of this with a pencil or a pastel in hand. But this is me, in words… at least for now.
