For twenty years, I worked in the fashion industry as a retail buyer. My world was fabric. Production. Texture. Surface. Construction. I understood how cloth moved, how it behaved under pressure, how it stretched, frayed, softened and held memory.

I also saw, firsthand, the scale of overproduction. The excess. The waste. The pace at which materials were created and discarded.

Creativity for Mindfulness: The Art of Being

I create to be me.

Creativity, for me, has never been about producing more or pushing harder. It’s about allowing my true self to surface — gently, honestly, without force.

People often ask me how my sunset paintings sit alongside my ocean work.

On the surface, they can look like two different worlds — waves and shorelines on one hand, skies on fire on the other. But for me, they are inseparable. They come from the same place, the same rhythm, the same deep pull toward moments that make time slow down.

Postcards from the Coast - A quieter way to stay connected to the sea

There’s something about the start of a new year that makes the pull of the ocean feel stronger.

January has a way of stripping things back. The pace slows. The noise drops. And what’s left is often a quiet longing — for space, for calm, for places that make us feel more like ourselves.

Yesterday, I spent the day painting in the studio with my goddaughter.

There was no plan.
No outcome in mind.
No concern about whether it looked “good” or made sense.

When a painting finds its forever home

One of the most common things people say to me is,
“You must feel relieved when a painting is finished.”

But the truth is, that moment isn’t the one that stays with me.

There’s a moment every December when the studio finally exhales.
The paint settles, the brushes rest a little longer in the water jar, and I can actually hear the ocean outside again. That’s where I am right now — in the quiet after a year that felt full in the best possible way.

2025 has been a year of big shifts.

In my studio, before any colour meets the canvas, I reach for fabric.

Old linens, worn denim, vintage cotton, rough hessian — each piece has its own temperament, its own way of behaving under paint. And that personality is exactly what brings my shorelines to life.

Next year, I’m taking a step that’s been quietly tugging at me for a while — I’m heading back to school. Not full-time, not disappearing, not hitting pause on commissions or creative experiences… but committing to one long weekend each month on the Porthmeor Programme at St Ives School of Painting.

Meaningful, ocean-inspired gifts for those you love

There’s something about the sea that brings us back to ourselves.
That gentle rhythm of waves, the smell of salt on the air, the peace that seems to settle over you the moment your feet touch the sand.

This autumn marks the beginning of a new chapter in my journey as an artist.

From 16th November, I’ll be moving into my new studio and gallery space at Agweres, Lanteague – a vibrant creative hub where my work can live and breathe in its truest form. This space will be both a working studio and an intimate gallery: a place where you can view originals in person, talk through commissions, or join me for one-to-one sessions and mentoring.

As the seasons shift and we move into autumn, I’ve been reflecting on the summer just gone. It was busy, beautiful, and deeply fulfilling — but also brought me one of the most important lessons I’ve learnt since becoming a full-time artist and entrepreneur.

This summer has been one of the most varied, vibrant, and inspiring seasons of my journey as an artist.