29 September 2026

A Summer of Art, Adventure & Everything In Between

The last few months have been a bit of a summertime blast. I genuinely feel like my feet haven’t touched the ground!

There have been trips with family and friends, days by the sea, adventures in the van and so many memories squeezed into one summer. I’ve seen some incredible shows too, from Beetlejuice and Moulin Rouge to seeing Mika live at the Eden Project.

The van has taken me on plenty of little adventures around Cornwall, usually with my camera somewhere close by. I’ve taken hundreds of photographs along the way, capturing everything from ordinary moments that caught my eye to watching the eclipse from Whitsand Bay. That was definitely one of those moments where you stop for a minute and think, wow, I’m actually here.

And amongst all of that, something quite big has happened creatively.

I started oil painting classes through Painting for Drawing Dropouts and it has completely changed the way I paint.

I’ve experimented more. I’ve worried less about getting things “right”. I’ve played with colour, light, water, portraits and subjects I probably wouldn’t have attempted before.

Most importantly, I’ve painted.

A LOT.

I’ve completed more paintings this year than I think I ever have before, and I can actually see my work changing in front of me.

It’s funny because when I look back over the summer, the travelling, photography, theatre, music and painting don’t really feel like separate things. They’ve all fed into each other.

The places I’ve been have made me want to photograph.

The photographs have made me want to paint.

The paintings have made me look more closely at the world around me.

And perhaps that’s what this summer has really been about.

Looking. Noticing. Creating.

And actually living enough to have something I want to create about.

But as summer has started to slip away, I’ve noticed something changing.

After months of being everywhere, seeing everything and filling my camera roll with places and people, my paintings have started turning inwards.

Some of the work I’m making now is much more personal.

I’ve always used art to process things I can’t necessarily put neatly into words. Recently I’ve found myself exploring relationships, boundaries, identity and what it sometimes costs us to find peace.

Paintings like The Constraints of My Existence, The Weight of Others, On Reflection and What I Cannot Hold have come from that place.

They aren’t necessarily comfortable paintings, and I don’t think I want them to be.

I’m becoming increasingly interested in creating work that makes someone stop for a little longer. Perhaps it feels slightly unsettling. Perhaps they recognise something of themselves in it. Perhaps they see something completely different from what I intended.

I actually love that.

Because I don’t think art always needs to give us the answer.

Sometimes it just needs to ask the question.

My next painting is already beginning to do exactly that. I’m working with the title The Price of Peace, and I keep coming back to one thought:

What does peace actually cost us?

Sometimes peace means rest, boundaries and choosing ourselves. But sometimes the things we do to keep the peace can mean making ourselves smaller, going along with something we don’t really want, or walking away from people we still love.

It’s uncomfortable territory, but creatively I think that’s exactly where I want to be right now.

And while all of these ideas are bubbling away, there are some lovely things happening with my work out in the real world too.

I recently returned to one of my first loves, lino printing, creating a gorilla print for Empowering Animals charity. There is something about carving lino that slows everything down. You can’t rush it. Every cut matters and the image slowly reveals itself in reverse before that wonderful moment when you finally pull the print.

Creating work that can also contribute to something I care about makes it feel even more worthwhile.

And this Thursday, some of my work will be going on display as part of a student summer exhibition.

There’s something quite strange and lovely about seeing work that began quietly in your own space suddenly hanging on a wall where other people can stand in front of it.

Especially when I think about how much has changed in my work this year.

I started the summer travelling, photographing, watching shows, laughing with people I love and filling myself up with experiences.

Somewhere amongst all of that, I think I found another layer of myself as an artist.

I’m painting more.

I’m questioning more.

I’m taking more risks.

And I’m beginning to trust the slightly uncomfortable ideas rather than trying to tidy them up.

So as summer finally gives way to autumn, I don’t feel like I’m closing the door on anything.

It feels much more like I’m standing at the beginning of something.

I’m not entirely sure where it’s going next.

And for once, I’m quite happy not knowing.