Peering into the rearview mirror of time, my artistic roots stretch back to childhood – scribbles of graffiti gracing my 80s textbooks and the intricate lines of technical drawings that wove their way into my heart. But like many things, this passion appeared to fade as life marched forward. The pivotal moment came in 2016, when the tempest of a traumatic divorce reached its crescendo, leaving behind a trail of emotional debris and financial woes, years in the making. Seeking refuge, I escaped the confines of routine and found solace within the embrace of the New Forest. Here, amidst the trees and whispers of nature, I discovered art as my lifeline – an escape from the turmoil that had taken root within.

 As a balm for my racing thoughts and a sanctuary for my anxious heart, art emerged as my trusted companion. Each pencil stroke became a form of meditation, a gentle whisper that calmed the storms raging within. Amidst the shadows of mental health struggles, art reclaimed its rightful place in the gallery of my heart, breathing new life into my world.

 I embarked on an odyssey through acrylics, exploring the dance of colors and textures. Yet, it was in the realm of graphite and charcoal that I unearthed my true calling. The monochrome palette held a symphony of shades, waiting to be coaxed onto the canvas. Amidst the canvas and charcoals, I found myself. The epoch of 2020’s lockdown became a cocoon of metamorphosis. With each brush of the hand, I felt the cadence of creation, the journey from void to masterpiece. The supplies in my grasp transformed into conduits of expression, and in this symposium of artistry, I found not only art but a profound connection with myself, a spiritual expedition that had been a long time in the making.