I read recently that artists paint their desires, that we paint where we are right now and that resonated deeply with me. I painted landscapes at a time when I was rootless and without a home of my own. I was seeking my place in the world around me - finding my footing, trying to create an anchor of belonging and I sought it in my natural environment - which was free to everyone, belonging to no-one and everyone simultaneously. I also painted small watercolour landscapes during the pandemic lockdown as a reminder of what was outside the four walls of my confined spaces.

As one of eight siblings, I had to fight to find a space to call my own - so I sought solitude within the pages of a book, playing the piano, or drawing in my sketchbook. I didn’t fit in well at school, missing the vital first three months of the start of the year when everyone finds their tight little friendship groups. I had one kindly friend that did her best to include me in her group but I felt like the outsider and had nothing in common with the rest of them. Whenever I could, I hid away in the art block and focused on painting and working hard to get into Art Foundation school. I realise now that living in my mind was preferable to living in the chaos that was my childhood and adolescence. I live in solitude now and in a very quiet village in Mid-Wales in a beautiful rented cottage. Only after living here for two years have I been able to set up a painting space again. Now, I am painting flowers. This both surprised and delighted me. I haven’t painted still life subjects since art school - I quickly came to understand that my subconcious has selected flowers as a metaphorical subject to work out the shifts that have occurred naturally in my personal and intimate relationships. It is a challenging subject and narrative - I’m allowing the subconscious to flow as I paint - and then step back to examine what has been produced.

View from Tegfan Cottage Studio 2023-2026

The experience is almost like being in a dream state - and only when I lift the brush and step back to look at the painting as a whole can I see what has been painted. Often, I jump back in too quickly with my know it all ego and stomp all over it. But I am learning to recognise when to stop. Losing a beautiful image hurts - it’s a painful lesson, best learnt quickly. And that my friends is half the battle with painting - learning to stop before the ego steps in.

Do we paint what we desire?

Finding flow.

Farewell 2025