I am inspired by smells, by being in my body, fresh water, The Earth, Love, people older than me with light in their eyes and smiles that sing to me how to live well.
I am blown open by fat bass lines, cowgirl dreams, massive, open spaces and by people younger than me, with radiant smiles and hearts beating with life and hope, who surge me on to ensure that there is a tomorrow and a day after tomorrow.
I love the moon, I believe in magic and my heart breaks for the species and land-bases, the forests, rivers and wetlands that are disappeared daily due to greed and malfeasance.
In life I explore landscapes, inner and outer, and how they play with each other. I journey and play with my own landscape – through travel and expedition, music, prayer, in connection and service to the soil beneath my feet, psychic voyage, visions of weirdness, stories, plants, love. I like to take my clothes off in the middle of the day and dance in nature when I am all alone and I can feel the sun on my body.
I’ve played a lot with my outer landscapes: traveled and changed my place. I grew up in England, where I studied in Liverpool and London. I grew up learning languages, painting, making theatre, reading books and dancing until dawn at countryside raves and in the clubs of London and the North of England.
England is green and pleasant and I wanted hot and steamy so, aged 21, I set off for the Caribbean where I spent almost two years in the French islands exploring, journaling, painting, teaching and eating fruit, fish and spices.
Tropical islands led me to Morocco: Saharan expanse, markets, snake charmers, vast canyons, and my first taste of desert life. After some time, onwards again through Eastern Europe’s former communist states of concrete, Art and Life and to bustling Asian cities, Indian temples, frangipani blooms, Buddhist monasteries, turquoise seas and fishing boats. I headed straight to Thailand after the tsunami hit and painted homes and dove for wreckage and debris, listened to people who had lost everyone and helped rebuild something out of the scarred remains of an island ravaged.
Several years later, on again to the buzzing cities of north America, neon, plastic (objects and bodies), tall, tall trees, big cars, perfect teeth, big dreams and trailers.
Now New Mexico. Here the earth is strong, the buildings are not too tall, and most of the state is pure, pure, space. There is space enough to break free, and space enough to create. Space enough to remember.
For remembrance is key, right now as always. Our planet is in trouble. 200 species become extinct every day. We need desperately to remember the part of us that already knows how to honour life and take our place among it. The part of us that is real and not cardboard cutout, story-boarded, rendered in human form, coerced into existing, consuming, in this industrial insanity that we have been misled by mercenaries into mistaking for Life.
We are born to create, to participate and to learn. To live without destroying our home.
The ness of feeling alive is what I try to capture in my painting. And the way that feeling looks in places, realms of spirit. Art for me is a process of creating thing from ness in order to provoke ness from thing. Or it is just something I have to give.
I love our planet Earth, my husband and son, thrift shopping, making music with Silvermouse, horses, large faux-fur coats, drums, chile, goats’ cheese, rhubarb, lotion, tea, sharing real food, wearing leg-warmers on my arms and feathers in my hair.
If the paintings I make and the music we create as a family can inspire people to do everything in their power to heal and rebuild the precious bio-regions of our home, and protect those few remaining regions that are still intact, then my life will have had meaning.