There’s no greater compliment for me as an artist than when someone is so captivated by my work, they to want to make a place for it in their home. Wracked with self-doubt about my ability, as many of us ‘arty types’ are, I am always incredibly humbled and outstandingly grateful for these explicit endorsements of the work I produce. Let’s face it, art is subjective. It can be hard to quantify just why a particular painting, print or sculpture speaks to us. Twenty different people can interpret the same image twenty different ways. However, as individuals we know when something captivates us to the extent, we must have it. What’s going on? What is not always apparent though, is what was going on in the head of the artist as the piece came in to being. How many times have you stood in front of a painting and thought about the artist who made it? Wouldn’t you just love to know what was going on in their minds? What made them tick? Some work needs no explanation. Its message is explicit – a reaction to a certain policy, event, or environmental issue but the image alone is not the whole picture (pardon the pun). When viewing a well-known Van Gogh painting, the treatment of the subject matter and the medium he used conveys the highly charged emotions of the man himself, even though the finished piece is a sun filled wheat field, a sunflower, or a simple chair. For most artists, it’s probably fair to say their thoughts and feelings can only be guessed at when looking at their finished work. This is especially true as time ticks by; we lose the ability to grasp meaning once obvious to the artists’ contemporaries. What hope do we have of understanding the thoughts of the artist themselves? Does it really matter? Do we need to know what was in an artist’s mind to appreciate the end result? Ultimately, I guess the answer is no, as it’s the artwork which stands the test of time. However, many of us who’ve had the opportunity to speak to people who’ve visited our exhibitions pre Covid, know from experience how talking about our approach, the inspiration and why we felt compelled to create our work, is valued by our clients. Having the insight direct from the work’s creator, adds to the experience of investing in the artwork and the artist. Put it in writing Earlier this year, I was asked to share my thoughts on what had led to the creation of some paintings a valued client had set her heart on, including ‘Autumn Icon’ pictured here. Gladly I set about my task and discovered I’d embarked on some serious soul searching. Putting my thoughts in writing not only recorded my inspiration and earnest conscious intentions as I‘d started painting but also took me right back to my childhood. Memories of losing myself in the huge, musty, art and historical books with their shiny illustrative plates which captivated me flooded back. I saw how early exposure to pictures of religious icons and illuminated manuscripts ignited my love of gilding. My love of nature found its roots in tramping through fields and bottle-feeding lambs in the barn with my grandfather. I touched on deep-seated personal regrets, and I became acutely aware that, as with many things in life, it’s our childhood experiences which shape us. Sharing my thoughts and emotions in this way with my client was valuable to us both. It brought to the fore things I instinctively felt but hadn’t necessarily articulated and resonated with what my client felt about the paintings. It re-enforced my long-held beliefs about the importance and fragility of our natural world and the creatures within it. It crystallised my intent to try to exert a subtle influence for good through the work I produce; something my client was quick to recognise and support. Please don’t get me wrong, I have no illusions of grandeur, but I do care about what I do and there is thought behind it. Richer understanding and mutual respect I know my words resonate with my client. Her intellect and insight command my respect and admiration. Our email exchange on the back of this additional interaction has led to a richer understanding and mutual respect. It’s also furnished me with the most incredible feedback which gets me back on track whenever the self-doubt takes hold (priceless). I am eternally grateful to this very special person who has placed her faith, energy, support and financial investment both in my work and in me as an artist. I thank her for asking me to share my thoughts and urge fellow artists to do the same whenever the opportunity arises. We aren’t out of the woods yet as far at Covid goes, so the valuable face-to-face conversations may still have to wait. However, taking a little time to explain in writing how your work came to be, could prove to be a very worthwhile investment for all.

I love being an artist. The joy I get from the act of creating is hard to put into words. Sometimes it’s simply the way a brushstroke is held in the plump, oily, loveliness of paint on canvas. Or, it can be the wave of excitement which bursts through me, after running a new drypoint plate through the press for the very first time. The moment when peeling back the paper reveals that rare thing - a beautifully clean, clear image - just as I imagined it to be. However, life is far from a constant stream of one high point after another. This year has thrown a fair few spanners in the works for people like me, who rely on organised events and exhibitions to make a living. It’s been the cause of much soul searching within the four walls of my little studio. ‘How long can I keep going? ‘Should I try to find a job with a regular income?’ and the big one…‘Why am doing this?’, have all bounced around my brain with alarming regularity. I know in my bones that I am driven to create; it’s something I just have to do. It’s almost like breathing. That sounds pompous I know and selfish too – but I don’t mean it like that (although the guilt over being selfish is another thing to add to the list). Then, out of the blue it happened…something which reminded me exactly why I do this. It also demonstrated the power and magical transformational qualities of art, which we, as humans, need and value. It was between lockdowns. I was lucky enough to hold a short exhibition in a lovely little Cotswold gallery. It was a grey, extremely quiet morning with very few people venturing out. The door of the gallery opened slowly; the bell announced a visitor by bouncing excitedly on its’ spring. The first things I saw were two small wheels attached to a large red shopping trolley, followed gradually by a small form wrapped in a large raincoat, plastic rain hat and the now obligatory face mask. After returning my good morning, this small, elderly lady asked in a timid voice, “Do you mind if I just have a look round? I won’t be buying anything today but after everything which is going on out there”, she sighed, “I just want to lose myself in your beautiful pictures.” I then spent the next fifteen minutes in silence, watching the transformation. Taking each piece in turn, my visitor did just as she said. I saw her looking intently at the image before her, sighing every now and then and taking an even closer look when she saw something she particularly liked. Her body language changed and step by step, her shoulders relaxed, she stood more upright and her eyes twinkled above her mask. After enthusiastic and heartfelt thanks, the lady picked up her trolley, took a deep breath and opened the door to face the day. I swear she left the gallery more energetically than she entered and she definitely had a spring in her step. So, I thank my visitor for reminding me that what I do, does indeed make a difference and all the angst of this year will be worth it in the end. When we create a piece of work, we put our heart and soul into it. While we may describe paintings, drawings and prints as two dimensional – I have seen first-hand, they are much, much more. The creation of art comes from somewhere deep down inside. It has the power to elicit strong emotional responses, lift our mood and re-energise us when times are tough. So, I am holding on to that thought as this year draws to an end. After all, what more compelling reason could there be, to keep on doing what I do?