Once upon a time I was a young woman, a committed artist, a dreamer. I still had much to learn, though I had earned a handful of wisdoms early. I reached out into the world with my art, because I had to, not knowing how it would be received, slowly strengthening my fragile belief in the thing that I did, (not always) withstanding daily skirmishes with my harsh internal judge. Edging forward I shared my thoughts, my fears, my practices and my life’s adventures. I learned that I loved to write, and that your feedback made a world of difference to me. I was a contrary combination of hermit and solitary artist whilst also finding great joy in community and connection. Perhaps you knew me then.
Now I am not so young, nor yet old. I am a mother. I have passed through those initiatory gates and found much is different on the other side. I am still an artist and dreamer, yet I must fight harder to be the artist I am. My homes have been wheeled and rooted, wheeled and rooted, and I have travelled new roads and back around familiar circles. Above all, with my creative time now distilled into intense and rare apertures, I feel a new urgency and animal power to my practice. So far this has activated in me new kinds of working and new kinds of work. I can’t see very far ahead, but I walk on determinedly, pulling behind me all the threads I’ve spun so far, and here in this place I will warp them onto a new loom and invite you to join me as I weft new colours through them.