My art practice is a way of making sense of the world. For me, creativity exists in the space between control and chaos, a place where intuition and intention meet. Through making, I am able to access a quieter, unconscious part of my mind. As Georgia O’Keeffe once said, “Through my paintings, I can describe feelings and moods I cannot describe with words.” I return to this sentiment often; it captures something essential about why I work the way I do.

During the pandemic, my practice centred on human connection, the need for community, touch, and closeness in a time of separation. The paintings from this period were structured and deliberate, with a strong, insistent palette. Red appeared frequently, carrying ideas of urgency, intimacy, and the body.

My Innermost series marked a shift inward. These works respond to a growing collective urgency around climate change and the pressure to make better, faster decisions about how we live and how we leave our mark on this planet. The brushstrokes became lighter, the colours more open. Embedded within the work is a sense of restlessness, one I observe in younger generations and among my own contemporaries, as many question purpose, value, and the systems we have inherited. This desire for change is not illustrated directly, but carried through the energy of the paintings themselves.

My work continues to mirror the world as I experience it. As the stories and questions I want to address evolve, so too do my processes and chosen materials. At the heart of my practice is the handmade and the personal. I am drawn to the uniqueness of an individual mark—whether made with a brush on canvas, a pencil on paper, an etching needle on copper, or hands shaping clay or wood. To remain inquisitive, to stay open, feels essential to both my work and my idea of happiness.

My most recent body of work, Conceal or Reveal?, explores identity, motherhood, and fertility through abstraction. The series is informed by my experience of being adopted, by my adoptive mother’s handwritten diaries, and by my own experience of motherhood. These intimate histories are layered into the work rather than narrated, allowing feeling to surface gradually.

Incorporating fragments of my mother’s diaries, the work also reflects on the fragility of language and memory in an increasingly digital world. As handwritten letters, diaries, and notes disappear, I ask what is lost alongside them. Are our stories truly preserved when they exist only as data?

I am happiest when I paint, and my mind is calm. In this way, my art practice is inseparable from my mental health. In a world that often feels overwhelming, I feel fortunate to have found a way of working that grounds me, gives shape to uncertainty, and allows me to keep asking questions.