The year 2025 began not with a whisper, but with the echo of boxes being taped shut and the soft pitter-patter of two little paws navigating cardboard labyrinths. My husband and I uprooted our lives, along with our two spirited pups, Bonnie and Teddy and crossed town in search of more light, more space, and above all, more possibility. The move was equal parts exhilarating and exhausting, a whirlwind of furniture, floor plans, and forgotten picture hooks. And somewhere in the shuffle, my paintbrushes gathered dust.
For weeks, the studio I had so long dreamed of remained just a room with four walls, clean, empty, and waiting. I’d peek inside each morning, half-expecting inspiration to come knocking. But change, I've learned, isn’t just about new walls or better lighting. It’s about letting go before you can begin again.
Then, one August morning, sunlight spilling across the hardwood like liquid gold, I stood in that empty studio with a cup of tea in hand and an idea blooming in my chest. Why not paint the women I’ve always wanted to see in the world? Strong, radiant, alive, each one cradling her own story in the curve of her smile, the tilt of her head, the fearless colour in her eyes.
And thus, Empowering Women was born.
I began with a vision: bold hues, intricate florals weaving through hair like whispered secrets, and a sense of quiet confidence that needed no announcement. Each woman I painted was an ode, not just to beauty, but to resilience, to joy, to the silent power of simply being. A woman draped in petals with sunflowers tangled in her braids. Another, serene in indigo, her shoulders dusted with cherry blossoms as if spring itself adored her. They weren’t portraits of any one person, but of the collective spirit I see in the women around me, my friends, my family, my own evolving self.
But as life often does, the universe threw in a delightful curveball.
During a damp week in December, while decorating the tree with Teddy nosing suspiciously at the tinsel, I sketched a robin perched on a branch, cheeky, curious, with a wink in its eye. On a whim, I painted it. Then another. And another.
Before I knew it, my "cheeky robins" series had taken flight, quite literally. They sold faster than I could sign the backs of the canvases. There was something about their playful spirit, their bright red breasts against winter’s hush, that people connected with. One collector told me, “They look like they’ve just stolen your last biscuit and don’t even care.” I laughed.
Now, as 2025 draws to a close, my new studio hums with colour and purpose. Canvases lean against the walls like old friends, waiting their turn. The pups curl up in sunbeams, occasionally inspecting a half-finished floral crown with the seriousness of art critics. And I—brush in hand, heart full, am creating not just art, but a language of joy, strength, and mischief.
The move paused my painting, yes. But it also gave me space, literal and emotional, to paint something truer, bolder, and more me than ever before.
And somewhere in these strokes of colour and whimsy, I found my voice again. Loud, proud, and blooming.
My New Studio
A Timeless Ritual of Reflection
A Symphony of Hues
Cheeky Robin, A Pair of Robins & Chirpy Robins
The first Christmas Fayre in the local Church hall
The last one outside the Orchard Gallery, Taunton.
