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About Me
Art, for me, is as essential as breath. It’s woven into the most minor details of my day - the cup I drink my morning tea from, the quiet beauty of my cottage garden, the way colour or form can shift how I feel. Creating gives my life meaning. It helps me express things I can’t put into words and offers a place where empathy, beauty, and truth can intersect.
My work often begins in the deeper areas of my own experience. I sometimes have to journey into places in my mind where grief, love, injustice, and hope coexist. I’m especially moved by the suffering of children and by the courage of people who endure impossible circumstances. My children and grandchildren inspire me to utilise whatever abilities I have to pay attention, care, and act.
Even though the subjects I explore can be challenging, I always look for a trace of light - something lyrical, tender, or unexpected. I’m not here to repeat the news; enough sorrow surrounds us. I want to hold space for hope too, and for the small, magical things that help us survive in a damaged world. I aim to give voice to the voiceless, speak honestly about mental health, highlight injustice, and demonstrate that beauty and pain can coexist.
Most of my work takes the form of digital collage - layering, combining, and superimposing images in ways I can’t always predict. That element of accident, of two things colliding to form something new, feels true to life. Our lives are also layered, messy, surprising - and often far more beautiful than we expect.
For a long time, I felt lost. Returning to my art has been the most healing and grounding experience of my life. In creating again - quietly, stubbornly, honestly - I’ve found myself again.
Art is my oxygen. And it is the way I try, in my small way, to make sense of the world and to offer something tender back to it.
ABOUT MY LOGO:
The Two Intertwined Robins
My logo features two intertwined robins — a symbol rooted in one of the most intimate parts of my life. After the passing of my only son, the robin began appearing to me in moments that carried unusual weight: times of reflection, emotional crossroads, or quiet overwhelm. These little visitations came with a sense of presence that felt impossible to ignore.
Over the years, the robin became a quiet companion — a tender reminder that love continues in ways we don’t always have language for. Not superstition, not wishful thinking, but a subtle thread of connection that seemed to arrive exactly when I needed it.
I chose two robins because they represent two souls held close:
A mother and her child, the seen and the unseen, the living and the spirit that remains. Their intertwined bodies form a soft circular shape, symbolising continuity, return, and the unbroken bond that grief cannot sever.
This is not a corporate emblem; it is a mark of remembrance, devotion, and gentle resilience.
I place it on my work to honour the presence of the one who shaped me, the one whose absence and enduring love inform everything I create.
It is my quiet way of saying: We remain — together, still.
