Studio Blog

On a trip to London with my husband, during an exhibition of my own, I found myself standing in front of a Joan Mitchell painting at Tate Modern. The sheer size and power of her work took my breath away. There is something elemental about her brushstrokes, something that feels primal and life affirming. As I stood there, I read her poem Cobble Hill , which hung beside her paintings, and it spoke to my soul. I was so overwhelmed by her paintings that I sat on the bench in the

I have always been drawn to painting on small canvases because of the intimate dialogue it fosters between the artwork and the viewer. There’s something about the constraints of a small canvas that sparks a deep fascination within me – the boundaries of scale, the way they challenge my perception, and the way they push my creativity. The larger work may present a grand narrative, but the small scale invites you in, whispering secrets in your ear. Working on a small canvas is

The weather is shifting, it is November, the darkest month of the year, and different shades of blue are seeping into the days. As I work in my studio, I am mesmerised by the small fragments of snow drifting down, each one a whisper of the season’s quiet intent. It has been a spectacular fall, with colours that exploded across the landscape, copper tones on the leaves mixed with deep yellows that seemed to glow from within.And now, the first snow arrives, leaving a delicate m

When I paint, it feels like a self-indulgent journey, a diary of feelings and personal experiences that take shape on the canvas. My practice is as fleeting as the wind that whispers through the mountains, as mercurial as the play of light on water. It’s an addiction, really – I draw inspiration from nature, absorbing moments of artistic creation, and in doing so I find freedom. The artistic language I use often feels inadequate to capture the essence of the landscapes that i

Grief is a landscape of shadows, a twisted path through uncertain terrain. My grandmother, my guiding light, my mother in every way, left an unfillable void when she passed. The weight of her loss still feels like a mountain, making it hard to breathe. As I navigate this darkness of sorrow, I am slowly discovering that art is not just a form of expression but a lifeline. The world may not always understand the time it takes to heal, but in the silence, I am finding my voice,

Have you ever woken up at 5 a.m., before the world is fully awake?When the darkness is still palpable, and you can feel the quiet anticipation in the air. I drove to the sea, almost alone on the road, and felt a thrill of elation in the solitude.I had my sketchbook with me, my camera, and my morning coffee. As I sit on the rocky shore, the misty veil of dawn slowly lifts, revealing the silhouettes of trees and seagulls soaring overhead. The air is crisp, and the world feels f