Friday, 26 September 2014


My question to you all is where does that inspiration come from? That light bulb moment that pings in the depths of the night when you are trying to sleep. The muse that tickles at the grey matter of your brain.

As an artist and attempting writer, those moments are magical, if not sometimes frustrating as they do so often happen at night. I keep a notebook by the bed, crazy mixed up night time thoughts get noted down, sometimes without putting the light on, then the time to decipher comes in the morning. Or it could be a walk on the beach, rain or shine, the soft breeze or a howling wind. I'm always tuned into using all my senses and likewise there is usually a notebook and pencil in my pocket, along with a hand full of shells or sea glass. Things that trigger memories, long forgotten emotions, things that are meaningless to others but are precious to me.

Picture books from childhood, the smells of cooking, how the light falls through a window, or even a piece of music. It's a wonderful feeling at the moment for me, I have so many ideas brewing, ideas for a series of illustrations that I'm calling 'A play on Words' I have lists and doodlings all over the place and will gradually get them done around other projects. This is the latest, that I'm really pleased with, this is 'There's not mush-room under here!'

I loved doing this one, as a child I was rather obsessed with toadstools, having one autumn found hundreds of all colours and sizes in our garden, from then I was hooked on drawing them. There is something very magical about them for me and drawing this one took me back to my childhood memories, the kicking through damp golden leaves, the peppery smell of decay in the dew drenched grass and woodland.

Then I am retuning my brain for the writing, at the moment its tuned into city life. I grew up in London such a contrast to where I am now, open skies, fields, trees. But my vivid memories are helping in my writing, I think I must have always been in tune with the world, the recollection of the smells, the tube, people, the way I felt as a child waiting for that tube train to thunder into the station, the wind in my hair, that electric smell. It all gets taken in and used.

I'd love to hear from you about the things that inspire you as artists and writers, the places you go to ease that creative block, is it in a good novel, a walk in the park, night life of a city or a teacher who was the one person that believed in you and pushed you to go for it?

Ok that's enough of my musings, I need a walk in the woods.

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