Friends have often commented that when I speak about my upbringing it sounds idyllic, and I believe it was. Firstly, living in a small village in Buckinghamshire surrounded by fields and woods and given as much freedom as a child could hope for (I doubt if it would happen now) and then, secondly, moving to a small village in Essex, a much maligned and beautiful county. I enrolled on an art foundation course and that same year my mum took me to the Tate, as I had never been to a gallery before. I loved my foundation course; it was like being back at play school - we had so much fun!


My tutors suggested I should apply to Leicester for my degree, because I was so shy and shy students had previously been accepted there. I had a great time and worked with many media and methods including making a raft to install a painting partially submerged under a canal bridge.


I then moved to Colchester. My first studio was on a working pig farm, the second in an old apple barn from which you could see the sea. During this time I tried my hand at teaching. Not for me. I exhibited and did various freelance work.


I then took a full time MA in Birmingham. In the following years I exhibited and worked freelance as a muralist. I loved this work, travelling the length and breadth of the country, painting huge murals for hotels, bars and nightclubs; one week painting classical figures, the next, imaginary U.V. landscapes. It was something of a baptism of fire. One day I arrived on a building site with a spray gun and a compressor (watched by 10+ builders) and not a clue how they worked. Needless to say I learned a lot during that time, including how to erect scaffolding and operate a scissor lift.


The appeal of travelling and B&B’s did not last that long and I missed home cooking too much. Soon I started working collaboratively with a good friend. We produced paintings to commission and got to work on some really exciting projects for corporate offices and many of the major bar and hotel chains. It was hard work and we used to gauge our work load by the number of ‘degree shows’ we had to complete by the end of the month. The largest painting we produced was a huge 5 x 4 metres. I was nearly four months pregnant at the time, having to climb the scaffold tower to help install it. Since the birth of my daughter I’ve been working on a much smaller scale from a studio at home.


I always find the question of ‘where you get your ideas’ to be a slightly odd one. In trying to explain my work I almost feel as though I am trying to excuse myself, perhaps because I don’t like speaking about my work and perhaps because the question is slightly at odds with the way ideas evolve. It seems to be universally true that whatever ideas have formed the basis for a piece of work, they start to sound either silly or dull when articulated. Painting is a visual language and for some of us it is best left that way.


If ever I take a short break from painting I find myself in a bit of a panic when I return to the studio, the reason for this being that my main inspiration comes from the act of creating the work. It is a contemplative activity and ideas evolve through the act of creating, the main problem is to decide which to follow through.


I draw on all kinds of experience when painting: emotional, visual, physical. Randomness in nature always fascinates me, the way that things cluster and spread, the relationships between groupings and individuals. Having spent my formative years in the country and now living in the city, the horizontals and verticals of the built environment are having a huge impact on my work. My antidote to this, however, is just around the corner and I spend a lot of time wondering around Edgbaston reservoir. The way that we experience nature also impacts on my work, and I have become increasingly aware of the frequency with which I am viewing the open landscape from my car. Impressions of speed and nostalgia for the time when I grew up may also be attributable to this.


I don’t think I have ever managed to create the painting that I intended at the outset. Too many things happen on the way. Sometimes I will have a very basic sketch and a mental image of the colour relationships that I plan using, but so much changes as you work. It is important to me not to be too precious about anything. To be prepared to let go of ideas, or to destroy the most successful part of a painting in order to let it move forward as a whole. Perhaps most of all to go with the flow, to respond to the unexpected things that bring a painting to life. Very often it is the most troublesome paintings that become the most successful as they require more drastic measures and lead to new ideas.


Usually I have several paintings that I am working on at any one time. It is the only way I can prevent my impatience from ruining them. The paintings tend to built up in layers which bring a richness and depth to the work. Acrylics suit the way I work, I just don’t have the patience for oils.


My visual references come from my own photographs. Sometimes if I am working very large scale I will mock up a sketch on the computer to prevent large scale mistakes. This in turn can be a great source of inspiration, but nothing can replace the physical presence of paint or the joy of mixing colour.


Usually we are up anytime between 5.30 and 7.00am according to the whim of my daughter, who has yet to realise that sleep is a precious and enriching part of life.


Depending on how many times she has had me up in the night, I either sing her down to breakfast, or slump down in the sofa and pretend to be asleep again.


After walking her to nursery I am in the studio any time between 8.00 and 9.00am. Fruit teas, dark chocolate and good tunes punctuate my work time. I don’t really take breaks, I always think, ‘I’ll just do this’, ‘when I’ve finished that’ and then before I’ve stopped I’ve started something else. At 12.25 I throw my brushes into a bucket, rip off my painting clothes, pull on some clean jeans and sprint to the nursery, sweating and panting, to collect Jessica.


We come home for lunch and then either go for an outing or if I feel brave we do painting. This is such an emotionally charged activity you would not believe it at her age. She takes it so seriously and it makes me laugh to compare the way we both work. I’m sure I’m learning from her.


My partner is usually home quite early and we all eat together. Once Jessica is in bed and if I don’t go to do a little more work I will usually sneak away at some point and stare at what I did that morning. I don’t know what the staring achieves but it seems an important part of the working process.