My weekend at Printfest (the annual print fair in Ulverston, Cumbria) got me thinking about how and why people buy art. Many of my sales during the weekend came from repeat buyers and those who had saved up to come to Printfest as a highlight in their year. I also met lots of Instagram…

Even a week after my artistic retreat, I didn’t feel the need or want to speak as much. I felt quiet. It was a good feeling. And retreat is certainly the word- I backed away from people. Didn’t talk. No need to explain anything. I didn’t need other people to feel good, justified in…

I’ve been on a short ‘artistic retreat’- that’s what I’m calling it anyway- in Skye. I’ve always been attracted to the edge places, and though the Hebrideans and Orkadians would scoff, Skye seemed pretty far flung to me. And yes, I suppose I was searching for something ‘spiritual’, ‘divine’. Out of the ordinary. Something…

There is a song by Karine Polwart, the Scottish folk singer songwriter, about Thrift, the little pink flower that clings to the edges of our land. One of the lyrics goes, ‘Thrift’s gift is, Thrift’s grace is, to thrive in harsh places, And show us hardship is a limit not a failing’ I had the good…

I always remember the first time someone bought one of my pieces and said ‘that will look great on my gallery wall’. It’s not a new idea- one of my favourite things about going to my grandmothers house was the slow walk down the stairs, stopping frequently to look at her collection of prints,…

This month I’ve watched two beautiful documentary films about artists – ‘Tish’, about the late Tish Murtha, documentary photographer, and ‘Amselm’, Wim Wenders film on Anselm Kiefer (who needs no introduction!). Both films were wildly different and about wildly different people, but interestingly one thread wove it’s way through them both: which was the…

I’ve always thought of artist’s studios as places of magic- safe and sacred. The way I often think of churches and some kitchens. I always remember going to an exhibition in the Pompidou Centre in Paris in the late ’90s where Brancusi’s studio had been meticulously recreated in the gallery and it thrilled me.…

What is it about the etched line that gets me? I’m still not sure, but I think something to do with the scratched, ragged nature of it. Also, a certain, almost photographic nature to it, the same thing that attracts me to old silver type photos. A certain darkness. Most of my ‘lines’ these…

I know the importance of rest, the trouble is, it’s so hard to enact in this world I live in. Emerging out of the (rather wet) summer holidays, I was starting my run up to leap into all the things I said ‘I’ll do in September’, when, mid-leap, Covid felled me. I seem to…

When I moved to South Bristol in 1998, as a student, the area was run down, cheap to live in, and the only places to go out were small, scary, ‘old man’ pubs. The area’s changed beyond comprehension now. Some might call it gentrification, but there’s certainly a lot to be grateful for in…