What is your relationship with the insignificant?
I feel like I’m drawn to things that sometime go unnoticed in a place, things like the colour and textures on of a wall, a tiny pattern on a tile, the way light creates shadows. To someone else it might feel insignificant, but for me it’s something I cling onto and remember. I think “insignificant” is a strange or interesting maybe a bit difficult to define type of word, because it depends who’s looking. If it sticks with me and becomes part of a painting, then it clearly wasn’t insignificant at all. Those small details are often the starting point of my work.
Recalling a memory alters it. How do you notice yours changing when you paint?
I remember things in a very visual way. If I think back to a moment, I’ll often remember what I was wearing, what we ate maybe as detailed as the pattern on the plates, topic of conversation. Music is a big one too, it brings back the atmosphere of a place. I do notice that I only remember the good parts. I don’t paint from sad or unsafe memories. My paintings come from places where I felt happy, excited or calm, etc. Because I’m working from recollection, the details shift, things become softer, more abstract, more about the feeling than the exact scene. I think I’m quite good at blocking out times when I was unhappy or not in a good mood so it means when I’m remembering something it’s like the memory has rose tinted glasses or something! Is that the saying?
Could you tell me about your time during your residencies?
Last summer I did a residency in Portugal at Fábrica da Criatividade in Castelo Branco with a group of students from uni, we weren’t all painters some designers, illustrators, jewelers. We lived, worked, and travelled together, so we became close really quickly. We made work every day, challenged each other’s practice, could be vulnerable in the sense of trying new things and testing ideas which was so helpful in developing as artists but honestly the meals were the most memorable part: long evenings of chatting, laughing, and sharing food we’d cooked together. Well I can’t claim to have cooked ever! I was on the washing up team haha. The residency didn’t have much structure, so it meant we could respond to being there in a really natural way. We were limited with materials, so we ended up painting on found objects, old tables, bits of wood, carpet even a pair of old skis. It pushed us out of our usual habits. It was 40 degrees every day, so the pace was so so slow, and that really affected how we worked. I kept a concertina sketchbook and painted in it daily, and now I can see the timeline of how my marks changed as I settled into the town. It was a special time, being around other artists and having space to focus fully on creating.
My time in Spain was much shorter, just about a week so there was less time to really settle in. It was in the Spanish desert just after summer so there was little to no life, all the plants had died and some of the group found bones from wild animals. It was surreal to be in an environment like that. A key memory is star gazing, there was no light pollution, I think the nearest town was like a 30-minute drive away so we were really far from anything but it meant on a night with no clouds we could see the stars so clearly. Apparently one night Jupiter was visible! Crazy!
I can’t really put into words how transformative residencies have been for me. I get so absorbed and it fuels my practice unbelievably in ways hard to predict before you’re there. I really want to go on another one, in a space or place environment I haven’t experienced yet. Somewhere cool like Brazil or Japan or something I don’t know I just love to travel and see new places.
How do your artistic insecurities show up, and how do you work through them?
I definitely fall into the feeling “not doing enough” category, and the pressure comes from myself. I’m very driven, so when I want something, I work hard for it, but that can make me feel like I’m behind. My insecurities show up when I’m applying for things or talking with other artists and feel like I don’t know enough yet. I think it’s normal, especially being only a year out of uni. A lot of my friends feel the same, and being in a community where we all share those feelings makes it easier to work through. It’s a reminder that we’re all figuring it out together. Working through the insecurities alone is not good for headspace so being around others and talking through makes you realise what you thought was a massive thing is actually something we all struggle with and can learn ways to overcome.
What does a day in the studio look like for you?
Right now it’s boiling, the big windows make it feel like a greenhouse. I share the studio with my close friend Elvi, (Elvira Bernard) who’s also a painter, and it’s really special to work alongside her. We listen to music or podcasts, chat, and also challenge each other’s ideas in mini crit sessions. There are always snacks, nuts, fruit, crisps or sometimes baked goods (the shortbread went down well recently). I’m working on a few paintings at once, so my palette is messy, but I love playing with colours and seeing how things develop. Pages from my sketchbook are a scattered over the wall and across the floor so sometimes if I’ve had enough of painting, I’ll do some smaller drawings with oil pastels or gouache or something quick like that. Overall, very practical and hands on making. I leave the admin side at home so can be immersed in making when I’m in the studio.
What have you been listening to / reading lately that’s wormed its way into your art?
I listen to The Great Women Artists podcast a lot, it’s great when I’m overthinking, and I like hearing how other artists work. Talk Art is another favourite. Music is always on in the studio. Recently I’ve been loving Sunny Side Up by Paolo Nutini and Lovers Rock by Sade. I like listening to albums in one go in the correct order and being in the studio is perfect time for that. I’ve just started reading Monsters by Claire Dederer, only ten pages in, but I think it’ll be a good one. I’m not sure how directly any of this links to my paintings, but it definitely shapes the atmosphere I’m working in.
How does the absorbency of your surfaces determine what you're trying to express?
I’m still learning how different surfaces behave. I respond to what the paint does in the moment, so maybe the absorbency affects the energy of the marks, but it’s something I’m still figuring out. I want to try working on linen. At the moment I like working on calico because I can pull it tight round the stretcher and it becomes like a drum and I love that when I’m painting.
What makes you feel hopeful about the world?
I didn’t want to overthink this, so I just thought about what feels good right now. I’m surrounded by friends who are artists, and being around people who are passionate about making and creating feels hopeful. Even when life gets busy, knowing that the people around me care deeply about their practice is a lovely energy. I think it comes down to community, that’s what makes me feel hopeful.