Have you ever wondered where art begins?
For me, creativity begins in many moments — in the quiet pauses when I truly take time to observe, sitting and exhaling in stillness, or even in the midst of a chaotically busy day, when the steady rhythm of life gives space for an idea to bloom.
Inspiration comes from many places.
Other times, it’s a song that stirs an emotion, or the way colours interact — in the shifting layers and angles of an urban street, a green field alive with wildflowers, or the beauty of an animal or insect in nature.
Nature is always a source of wonder—the sunlight through the leaves, the gentle curve of a petal, the way the sky moves from warm golds to cool blues at dawn.
But I’m just as drawn to contrast—the meeting point of rough and smooth, the way city structures and wild landscapes exist side by side.
Blue is one of my favourite colours to paint with — I’m forever surrounded by jars of blue-tinted water!
And then there’s colour, encouraging emotions that make us remember, makes us feel. Every brushstroke reflects what I feel in that moment—calm, exhilaration, or even uncertainty.
In the past, when life felt chaotic, I'd turn to painting.
Now, I balance painting when inspiration calls with showing up for my practice to nurture my craft. The simple act of making marks on a surface is a release for me — and whether it’s a disciplined session or a burst of inspiration, it’s in those moments of creating that I find my own sense of equilibrium.
Even if the piece doesn’t work out — which happens more often than you might think — the act itself is always worth it.
I still remember one of my first painting sessions, sitting in my small North London living room, staring at a blank page and wondering, What am I doing here? I’m not a painter.
The emptiness of the paper was both exciting and intimidating.
As a sculptor, I was used to exploring and playing to find ideas, finding everyday objects, taking photos/videos and playing with clay or metal in the workshop. This blank 2D page? This was foreign to me.
Water is an integral part of my process, allowing me to create unexpected marks through a balance of gentle guidance and pure chance.
I dipped my brush into red paint and made my first mark—a semi-circle on textured sketchbook paper. The paint ran dry at the tip, leaving behind those raw, scratchy lines that only a semi-dry brush can make. It was oddly satisfying but also a little frustrating—like nails on a chalkboard.
I kept going, letting instinct take over.
Ten minutes passed before I even realised I had been completely immersed in play—the kind of play I hadn’t indulged in since my days as a sculptor. The kind of play where time disappears, and ideas emerge effortlessly.
That moment shifted something in me.
I picked up my brush again, letting the thick, wet paint pool onto the page—a stark contrast to the earlier dry marks. I still didn’t know where I was going, but for the first time, I didn’t care. That experience has stayed with me.
Painting on an enamel canvas on a gorgeous summer evening in my studio.
It’s why I paint, why I create. Not to chase perfection, but to capture fleeting moments of presence—to embrace the mess, the stillness, and the unpredictability of the process.
Because art, like life, isn’t about having all the answers; it’s about showing up and letting go, whether you have a plan or not.
In those moments of playful exploration or carefully planned composition — when I’m fully present, simply noticing and allowing things to unfold — ideas seem to drift in from somewhere beyond me.
A quiet, guiding voice, offering gentle suggestions. A creative whisper. Whether it’s intuition or something deeper, it always feels like a gift.
I’ve come to realise that inspiration isn’t about waiting for the perfect moment. It’s about embracing the mess, the beauty, the stillness, and the uncertainty—and allowing them to shape something new.
What’s been sparking your creativity lately?
