The Work of Waking

Separation and Togetherness - Kanga with Sheep and Giraffe & Breathe In Breathe Out - Tapir Briony and Armadillo Brian

There’s something stirring.  I’m giddy with the potential of life at the moment.  It seems like there are so many opportunities open at the moment, for my family , travel, friends, work, it just feels like this is the time to say yes.

I know I am in a different place than I have been for the

last two years.

There have been comments from family and friends about how my children and I have been over the last couple of months — more positive, more open, more curious about what is to come. Freer.  Collectively, we feel calmer.  There is even a sense of excitement about where we are now.

Alongside that comes an obvious guilt. I acknowledge it, I accept it, and I don’t try to silence it — it’s almost reassuring to have it there.

I know my new collection is not about grief.

I know I want to dig deep, not just scrape the surface.

I know I feel like I’m waking up.

Next week I travel to Australia, and it feels like a full-circle moment. I was there at 25 — working, travelling, playing, discovering who I might become. When I returned home, I met Grant five days later, and my life took a different, wonderful turn. Instead of a solo journey of discovery, I did that work in tandem.

Now I am solo again. It feels like standing on a similar precipice with the same sense of wonder at what might come next, but with an extra thirty years of experience to help. I feel more sure of myself, of my relationship to things; friends, strangers, places, objects, my work. I am less phased by what others mght say, less concerned with a reaction. I understand that actually for me to create authentically it has to be for me, rather than trying to make for 'a customer'.

This body of work is about continuity, resilience, and remembering who we have been — and asking whether those parts of us are still there, and what they have evolved into, and where they might go next.

About a year ago, I was aware that I felt quite lost. Confidence came only in fleeting patches. I struggled to hold my head up, to make eye contact, unless I felt completely safe with the people I was with. I’ve been consciously working on this — pushing my comfort zones, holding onto David Bowie’s idea that if you can’t quite reach the floor, you’re probably in the right place. If it's a little scary, then go for it.

Before marriage, I swam constantly. It was thinking time. Once again, it has become a place of thought, freedom, and quiet clarity.  I returned to it a couple of years ago, aware of how long I had put myself not first. That’s definitely not particularly to me, but it is something that I need to stop doing, to a certain degree.  We have one life you can’t take it for granted that you can do it ‘next time’.

I am meeting new people again. I used to love this. Over time I had retreated, keeping conversation for work, worrying about being boring. Now, curiosity has returned.

I’m thinking about the versions of ourselves we once were — and whether they are still here, waiting. I will not settle into the idea of a “woman of a certain age,” (Sarah Cox, huge thank you for THAT reaction).

The narratives behind my new works will be characteristically small, but significant. Personal triumphs. Realisations of self. Memories that quietly turn into present tense moments.

This will be The Light of Waking.