All of these stigmas are somewhat hidden from view. It is important for me to direct more people towards these issues and create awareness. Having someone to talk to is so important. Breaking these taboos will hopefully create a better support system for people affected.

I had my personal piece “Love Hurts-The winner takes it’s all” in a group show called HIDDEN at The House of Smalls in Edinburgh. All female artists showing were affected by domestic violence. It felt special to share this message amongst other victims, to hopefully open minds to the possibility that this is happening more often than anticipated, and it could be your friend, neighbour, or work colleague.

Spreading the word and lifting the lid on secrecy will hopefully make it easier to confide in someone who can help you. It acted almost as a therapeutic cleanse, sobering at times to look at but also making you aware.

It depends on the specific project. Each concept has its own demands, and I choose the style that best aligns with the message I want to convey.

For abstract works, I often choose colour palettes that complement the environment where the piece will be displayed or reflect the client’s personality and preferences, in the case of commissions. When I work on personal projects, I tend to favour vibrant and dynamic colours.

My graphic design background strongly influences my process. For example, I usually sketch my ideas digitally using software like Illustrator or Photoshop, which allows me to explore possibilities of form and colour more efficiently. Unlike traditional pencil-and-paper sketches, these tools help me visualise compositions more dynamically. Additionally, my training in graphic design taught me essential principles of composition and colour theory, which I apply directly to my art.

The decision depends on the concept and the story I want to tell. Sometimes, an idea feels more tangible and expressive as a three-dimensional form, while other times, painting provides the depth and atmosphere I need to convey the message.

Exhibiting in London was a milestone for me—it felt like a dream come true, especially coming from a city like Chihuahua, Mexico, where art opportunities are more limited. However, a recent exhibition in my hometown stands out as truly special. I presented my painting, “The Garden of Artistic Delights,” my most ambitious work to date. Seeing people gather around it, engaging in observation and conversation, was profoundly rewarding. It was my first time witnessing such genuine interaction with one of my works.

I hope my work captivates viewers and leaves an impression. I aim for my art to be seen, felt, and remembered—not overlooked.

Lately, I’ve been deeply interested in exploring the work of women artists throughout art history. This has influenced the themes I explore and how I approach my creative process.

I hope my style continues to evolve as I keep learning. There’s always more to discover, and I believe in maintaining an open mind—whether through visiting museums, reading, or exchanging ideas with others. As for upcoming projects, I’m excited to keep pushing the boundaries of my current work and exploring new ideas.

For a long time, I approached photography with the aim of creating images that might please the viewer, mostly capturing general views of landscapes – whether in nature, parks, or urban environments. However, I began to realise that this approach was unlikely to offer anything new or thought-provoking. While preparing for my solo exhibition at the Willesden Gallery, held from October 1 to 12, 2024, I decided to present not only my previous works but also something more innovative.

This desire for innovation coincided with a growing interest in overlooked details, those elements that often go unnoticed by artists. I’m not just referring to beautiful flowers or fragments of still-living plants but to the things we can find underfoot as we walk through parks or natural landscapes. I discovered that even fallen leaves, twigs, and other remnants of life, seemingly discarded by nature, can possess a quiet yet powerful beauty that resonates with the viewer. And here, of course, parallels with our human existence come to mind. Why is it that ageing individuals, and even the concept of death, rarely capture the attention of artists? One possible explanation is that we live in a world where beauty is often associated with youth, with its vibrancy and the fullness of life. However, as someone approaching 70 (next year), I’ve realised that ageing and even death can be subjects of aesthetic contemplation. They, too, can embody beauty – an insight that has deepened my understanding of existence.

I’m unable to send the photos via CuratorSpace, but here is a link where you can download the files showing the stages of work on the composition titled Street Performance that I presented for your exhibition (scan the QR code on previous page to see)

There, you can see the original photograph, which I then processed, removing the background and unnecessary details.

As a result, I developed three versions of the final composition. I sent you only one of these three versions for the exhibition. I am sharing another one with you, just for your information and view. This second version is going to be exhibited soon at another gallery. I added almost nothing of my own to these final versions, only removing excess details, thus following the principles of ikebana.

Almost every day, during my walks, I photograph fragments that capture my interest. While I selectively choose these details, I often find something new along the same route that attracts my attention. These are the fragments in which I recognise either a future composition or elements I can use in creating other compositions. This process is similar to the social research I engaged in for many years: first, you collect data, then analyse it, and finally produce a more or less conceptualised outcome.

My work can be seen as an attempt to ‘return’ to harmony and humanism in art – values that were largely rejected as one of the cornerstones of modernism. This rejection was perhaps inevitable against the background of the horrors of the First and Second World Wars, Auschwitz, and the Holocaust. The renowned modern philosopher Theodor Adorno once argued that modern art should abandon any attempt to achieve harmony. Indeed, fine art has taken a path that largely excluded, or at least diminished, references to human life, focusing instead on the pursuit of ideal (from the author’s point of view) combinations of colour, line, and abstract form. This shift has certainly contributed to the development of design and architecture and has certainly educated the viewer’s taste. However, it has also resulted in losing human warmth in much of the art produced.

The time has come to bring this warmth back to art, albeit in a new way, informed by the best lessons of modernism, and I see that some contemporary artists work in this direction. More broadly, this is about reviving the most valuable aspects of classical humanism while rethinking its principles to suit our current context. Initially, the emergence of humanism in philosophy was a response to religion’s dominance in individuals’ spiritual lives. Today, however, it takes on a more existential resonance, countering the alienation and hatred that characterize many aspects of the modern world. While my work doesn’t directly communicate these ideas, it is undoubtedly shaped by such sentiments.

My work is aimed at all art lovers, especially the elderly. I see what I do as a form of psychotherapy, both for myself and for my viewers. I hope to connect with my target audience and help them find harmony with themselves and the world around them.

Due to my age, I can now afford to spend more time outdoors, walking in local parks or travelling beyond London. As a result, objects from the urban environment occupy less and less space in my photographs and artworks. However, social life does not disappear from my work. On the contrary, it’s more present than ever. What is interesting is that although my current work focuses mainly on fragments of nature, these elements still evolve in my compositions into associations with human existence. I hope this is evident in all three pieces I’ve presented for your online exhibition.

I continue my efforts to reinterpret Eastern art in a modern style, not by copying specific techniques or approaches but by creating new analogues. In this regard, my latest series consists of attempts to create imitations of traditional Chinese and Japanese screens. However, I incorporate in this project materials that I collect daily during my outdoor walks, using these fragments to compose my versions of screens. I have already completed two works in this style and hope to create more.

When I was 7 years old, I had my first of many ‘aesthetic orgasms’, in which I experienced and was overwhelmed by beauty viscerally. The first was – home alone; after completinggardening chores, I turned on the TV and watched “Appalachian Spring”, a modern dance by Martha Graham. I did not know what was happening to me, but I felt a wave of pleasure from my toes to the top of my head. This is the viewer’s experience for which I have always aimed in my artwork.

Throughout my teens and 20s, I had further ‘aesthetic orgasms’; experiences so overwhelming that these set me on my path to create pictures that could also have such power, such an ability to up-raise the viewer into a ‘sacred bubble’ in which one cannot be touched by the pain and suffering of this Earth-world.

So, when I went to Cooper Union, the top art school in NYC, all expenses covered by scholarships, my professors would show us current art – for instance, an artist with his hands tied behind his back, shimmying naked on his belly through shards of glass. “No, no, NOOO!” I responded, “This is NOT beauty!” I soon realised that NYC had no interest in beauty; shock, yes, beauty, no.
I wholly rejected the NY art world and fought with nearly all my professors. One professor got so fed up with me he said, “You teach the class then!”…so I did, and I have to say, much better than him!

By loving them.
I taught my students for over 27 years: “Draw only the part of the picture you love while you love it. Is it an eyebrow, a wrist, a toe? Pay attention to what you love, then draw that while you love it. Then, like a grand buffet, keep picking and choosing other areas that excite and charm you – that bring you an erotic charge. Drawing and painting are the closest thing to a sexual fantasy – treat them as such!”

Fall in love with the shapes that you see on the person before you – and then you can create a palpable, convincing presence.

The ‘how’ of my artwork is to look deeply into the figure and into objects, finding pattern that defines 3-dimensional form. These all pervading patterns have taken over, allowing a 2-D decorative surface to describe form in a way that brings greater presence. By eliminating colour, the viewer is invited to ‘complete’ the scene through their imagination by evoking colour.

The first time I visited Gombrich’s home off Finchley Road, he said, “Your colours (I used to paint in oil) are very expressive, but you don’t understand form.”
I went to the top art school in NYC, Cooper Union, where we learned…nothing.
“Form? What is form?”

So I went immediately to Florence and stayed in a convent until I COULD understand what form it was.
“Ah-ha! it’s a clear and consistent depiction of 3D in 2D.” His simple sentence changed my life; form became everything. I developed a course (I taught for 27 years) on teaching people form in drawing and painting.
My first visit with Dore Ashton was equally…painful …and educational. She walked around the room, pointing to passages in my paintings, “This area is muddy.” “You can’t draw hands!”

She was wrong, and I told her about mud, but she WAS right about hands. I spent the next six months drawing hands, and on our next critique, she had to admit it was a great improvement.

Their sharp and direct criticism clarified my path, and I am grateful for the severe criticism. Gombrich, on my first visit, was also very British in asking if he could offer his criticism. I responded, “No one can criticise my artwork worse than me, so please have at it!”

I aimed to create a centre that could be the birthplace of the next golden age – a place that could encourage people, as I was since childhood, create beauty – beauty experienced physically: the aesthetic orgasm.’ The Moray Art Centre (3 galleries, seven studios; opened in 2007 in Findhorn, Moray) was born with a mission: to spread the word about the aesthetic orgasm, by which I mean having a physical, visceral response to art and beauty rather than an intellectual response. Based upon my vision: “Uplifting the Soul & Spirit through Beauty”, I raised 1 million pounds.

The project started when I left New York in 1992, after a “little voice” told me to visit Findhorn, a village in northeast Scotland.

Creating the building was only the start, as the exhibition programme I began delivering was very ambitious. The aim is to provide high-quality shows of historical and contemporary art. My greatest accomplishments were an exhibition of 15th-century Italian drawings from the British Museum, The Courtauld, and National Galleries, classical Greek sculpture borrowed from the British Museum, and 18th—and 19th-century drawings from the private collection of Lord Elgin.

My vision is that people will have an experience here that changes their lives or brings them to a new phase in their lives, and they will go home and think, “Why do I live this way? Why do we live in a world where things of beauty are being destroyed?” It starts with this core idea of beauty as the alleviation of pain, suffering, and fear.

My first exhibition was at the ground floor entrance to the Palazzo dei Priori, Perugia, Italy, a 12th century palace in the city’s centre, across from the Cathedral. The transport via air failed, so they sent a van – which made me very nervous; also, my Italian was weak at that time. Upstairs from my exhibition was the Gallery of Umbrian Art – with my great heroes of the 15th c. there: Piero della Francesca, Fra Angelico, Perugino…..!

I loved having Italians react to my pictures – highly emotional, hardly intellectual, warm rather than cool….

One day, a couple walked in and announced that they had a gallery right down the street and asked me to join them. I ended up having six more exhibitions at that gallery.

I was invited to a party with the Queen, 14 years ago, with all the art big-shots of Britain.

On this visit, I had meetings with the Directors of The British Museum, the National Academy and The Art Fund and gave talks at their institutions. When I used the “B”-word (Beauty), you could hear a hush, a violent intake of breath in the audience. These Directors even told me that their Board of Directors did not allow them to use the “B”-word.

Maybe it started in the 50’s of film noir – in whose strictures did not allow for an uplifting ending – perhaps we took that on too much – as a desire to not be associated with the “Disneyfication” of “the other side”?

Beauty – as an artistic aim – has been abhorred; politics, yes; statement, yes; concept, yes, but poignancy….no so much. I believe that beauty is “Love coming into form.” But this is, alas, uncool. How does one talk about beauty? Imagine: wouldn’t it be much easier to write, as a Critic, about ideas than about feelings? With really overwhelming beauty….there are, for me, no words. I asked Gombrich once, “My students to explain to me why a great painting is great. I can only explain how a very good painting is very good…but not great.” “Of COURSE!” he breathed as he fell back on his sofa.

To be clear: when I write “Beauty”, I see a great distinction between profound beauty and superficial prettiness.

My first solo exhibition in NYC was at Prince Street Gallery, Chelsea.

Two group exhibitions, again in NYC, at Blue Mountain Gallery and First Street Gallery, but soon, I’d like to just stay in the UK and exhibit here.

Follow beauty.

Ask yourself:
“What am I doing this for? What are my aims, my intentions? Is it to uplift others, to make the world a better place?”

Ask yourself:
“What is Beauty? How can I make, in my own time, something of the level of beauty equal to all the ages?”

Remind yourself:
“I can only have the motivation to carry out a life in the challenging career as an artist if I can experience pleasure. If not, I will merely go through the motions and try to sell to feel good about myself. Art without adventure, fun or pleasure will never ignite the viewer’s passions.”

Honour craft:
Care about every square millimetre of your artwork. If you believe in what you are doing, why would you not give your all to refining it?

On 9th July 2023, I developed Immersion Pulmonary Oedema, a rare medical condition that can affect scuba divers, triathlon, and wild swimmers. I aborted the dive but had a cardiac arrest at the surface and survived against all odds. Sadly, I had to give up diving, but I wanted to turn this negative event into something positive. Through sculpture and installation, I wanted to share with the viewer the beauty of the underwater world that I was so privileged to experience over the previous 10 years. During this short time interval, I witnessed the devastating impact on coral reefs due to climate change. I wanted this series to reveal the intricacy and colour of coral whilst raising awareness of coral bleaching, of which 2024 has been the worst on record.

It certainly was a challenge! I have lupus and have had to retire from practising medicine. However, this negative life event has turned into something very positive. My previous art education had been limited, although I had always enjoyed being creative. Therefore, I took an Access course first before applying for a BA in Fine Art. It was a very steep learning curve due to my lack of knowledge, and at times, I nearly gave up. However, I loved being a student again, the lectures, art crits, sharing ideas with fellow students and experimenting with all sorts of media before I settled on sculpture. I went on to do an MA, and it was then that I started to use my previous medical experiences, particularly those of refugees, to inform my practice. Qualifying in Fine Art took more years than becoming a doctor, and I found it very challenging; it was a whole new way of thinking.

Even when I started diving, bleached coral was evident, and I witnessed its escalation over 10 years. Algae live symbiotically with coral, providing food and colour. As water temperatures rise, the algae desert the coral, which bleaches and dies, including the ecosystem of diverse marine life it supports. The last time I saw coral reefs was in the Philippines; the majority had died, and there was little colour or marine life. It was devastating to witness. This, together with seeing blackened remains of trees from forest fires covering vast areas when travelling in my campervan in southern Europe, makes me feel very pessimistic about the future. I struggle to understand climate change denial (Trump) and hope that Global Climate Summit meetings haven’t come too late.

This series of works uses castings of dead coral, which is a fabricated structure representing a man-made problem. It is a representation of a coral reef, not a natural replication. Art cannot surpass the beauty of the natural world, but it can reinterpret it to make the viewer reflect. By creating an artificial construction of the coral’s natural beauty, the viewer is invited to consider the impact of human construction on the ecological environment. This metacommunication through the work, I hope, will raise awareness that human construction creates problems in nature, causing its destruction.

Art can be a report and a platform for discussion. It can be used as a medium to express things that are not always visible or easy to articulate but are there if you look for them. For example, this coral series is mechanically constructed but appears organic. The work can be seen as a play on nature but also a play on the construction of the human-built environment and its adverse effects. Through art exhibitions, publications and interviews, art can reach a wide audience. My installation, Our Planet, was used as an educational school workshop at Freshair Sculpture this year to raise awareness of coral bleaching. The youngest generations will be most impacted by environmental issues, which is why it is so important to reach out to them to activate change for the better.

In my medical career, I witnessed the suffering of refugees from Pol Pot’s genocidal regime but also their emotional resilience. This, together with other diverse experiences throughout my medical career, showed me the best but also the worst aspects of human nature. It made me reflect on the human condition and common strengths and weaknesses. As in human nature, my work can be decorative but can also reveal darker themes, expressing how our negative traits can impact each other and our environment. There is a fragile balance between our own existence and that of our world.

In 2023, I was somewhat accident-prone! After installing my installation, Migrant Crossings at the Ty Pâwb, I went walking in Snowdonia and survived a 40-meter fall and had to take a year out from the studio. The art world is extremely competitive, and it was a frustrating time as I missed many opportunities. Therefore, to be awarded The People’s Prize at the end of the 3-month exhibition with over a thousand votes meant everything to me. The work is an abstract conceptual installation about the current crisis of refugees crossing the English Channel in small boats. This work was very close to my heart, and the fact that viewers voted for it meant a lot. It also created some exposure within the art world and new opportunities to exhibit the work, for which I am very grateful.

I have recently exhibited in ON The Edge 2.0, Ovada, Oxford, an exhibition of work by members of the Royal Society of Sculptors made while the world is on edge, in the climate crisis and wars, curated by Tere Chad and Denise Bryan and I’m hoping to be part of ON the Edge 3.0 in 2025. I have submitted my recent work to the London Biennale. I am researching and experimenting in the studio to produce new work about climate change and pollution, particularly addressing plastic in our oceans and forest fires. This new work and future exhibitions will be updated on www.sallydecourcy.co.uk, or you can follow me on Instagram at @decourcysally. Thank you.

My academic journey was highly transdisciplinary. I initially enrolled in Sound and Image at ESAD in Caldas da Rainha, Portugal, and later pursued a degree in Fashion and Textile Design. During this second degree, I interned in London with designer Michelle Lowe-Holder, where I discovered the expressive potential of textiles and fashion as art. After completing my degree, I took a short specialisation course in Textile Design at Central Saint Martins in London, refining my skills in fabric manipulation techniques.

When choosing a master’s degree, I opted for a different field, focusing on the history and heritage of the Algarve through a master’s in History of the Algarve. This allowed me to delve deeper into local traditions, particularly textile heritage. By the time I started my PhD, I had already decided to focus on the artistic field, pursuing a doctorate in Digital Media Art. My PhD research was practice-based, enabling me to develop artistic installations often in collaboration with my supervisor Adérito Fernandes-Marcos, fellow artists, and researchers. During this period, I also began exploring post-digital aesthetics within my artistic practice.

Throughout my academic career, I participated in several artistic residencies. After completing my PhD, I started teaching Fine Arts in collaboration with the Biennial of Art in Vila Nova de Cerveira, in northern Portugal, marking the beginning of my regular exhibitions both nationally and internationally.

Tradition serves as a starting point. As an artist, I construct narratives about traditions and interpretations. I use traditional materials, promoting them and raising awareness of both tangible and intangible heritage.

I frequently use traditional materials and craftsmanship, focusing particularly on intangible textile heritage. From craftsmanship, I draw on techniques and materials, while from artisan communities, I incorporate their knowledge and experiences.

Augmented Reality (AR) is a digital tool accessible to audiences worldwide, provided there is an internet connection. However, it retains an allure of novelty and is often associated with gaming, which adds a playful element while holding immense artistic potential. This makes it an attractive medium for creators and an effective means of disseminating and raising awareness about intangible heritage. It enables a creative and engaging way to convey messages about cultural preservation.

The biggest challenge has been employing technologies adaptable to various exhibition spaces and ensuring that audiences can interact intuitively without prior explanations. This is why I primarily choose Augmented Reality, allowing audiences to use their smartphones or engage with video projections.

In the project Sliiv, integrating sensors into traditional textiles was particularly challenging. In collaboration with musician and researcher Rui Dias, we created a musical instrument embedded in a textile piece. The project is available online: https://projectsliiv.myportfolio.com/

In the tangible aspects of my work, I focus on repurposing materials and minimising waste while highlighting themes that promote cultural sustainability. In the digital realm, I aim to use existing tools and equipment, creating works accessible on common devices such as gallery screens and projectors. When employing Augmented Reality, audiences can access content via their personal smartphones. In 2024, I exhibited internationally multiple times, which inevitably involved an ecological footprint due to transportation. However, these activities were conducted as sustainably as possible.

I adhere to a zero-waste policy in my artistic production, avoiding material waste and polluting techniques whenever possible.

My focus on audience engagement and participation is strongly influenced by contemporary digital media art and my work as a researcher and curator. I believe that, in today’s world, audiences are increasingly demanding, constantly connected to mobile devices like smartphones, tablets, and laptops, and deeply immersed in social media. Art, in my view, should reflect contemporary life.

We are engaging with a global audience that is increasingly participatory, vocal, and accustomed to selecting what they want to see and sharing it online. In my artworks, I seek interaction using tools familiar to this audience, appealing to both aesthetic enjoyment and playful, engaging, and collaborative experiences.

The most remarkable reactions occurred during my early exhibitions, when I was still uncertain about pursuing art as a career. These experiences encouraged me to follow this path. Today, the feedback continues to be overwhelmingly positive, now on an international level, and I am deeply grateful to everyone who supports and follows my work.

I am working on new pieces and invite you to follow my creative process on my Instagram.

I am a highly sensitive, empathetic & spiritual individual and this is central to my work. The way I navigate the world and my emotional insight to life is at the core of how I create my work. Sometimes it’s difficult to articulate why we like a piece of music, art, food or architecture but something resonates within us on a deeper level. My work, starts from this place.

Narratives (my own or others) provide a beginning. Structure and context is the raw materials for the piece and a way to anchor emotions before giving the art room to breathe and come to life.

The process is where the magic happens. I have my foundation idea, but I remain open to what the work wants to reveal as I engage with it. Sometimes a painting will take on a life of its own, pulling me in unexpected directions. I don’t always have a clear end in mind, which is both liberating and challenging. I try not to control the work too much and instead allow it to evolve organically, trusting that it will unfold in a way that aligns with the emotional essence I’m trying to express.

Yes, and no! Sometimes my emotional connection to the work deepens as I move through the process but as I said, this emotion is just the beginning. As I continue to interact with the piece, the organic nature of how I work will take over the aesthetic, mood or composition of the piece and I will interact with this from a slightly different place.

I don’t have a specific emotion I want them to feel; rather, I want them to feel something that resonates with their own experiences, whether it’s nostalgia, joy, sadness, or even discomfort. The goal is to open up a space for emotional connection and reflection. Yes, we all want people to adore the art we lovingly created but I guess the worst thing for an artist is probably for their viewer to feel nothing.

I was once asked why I had displayed art in my home that a child could do, and embarrassingly it was once of my own pieces. Pretty crushing stuff but it reminded me that art can be incredibly subjective and will resonate in ways that go beyond my own intentions. Feedback can be humbling, exciting, cruel and everything in between. Two people can look at the same piece and interpret it in very different ways but that’s the beauty of art, there is something for everyone.

My approach has been pretty consistent; I have the passion to create, and I still use the same emotional language, then I allow the work to be intuitive, fluid & organic. However, my methods and materials have evolved to reflect the changing ways I connect with my work. I’ve always loved art & design, starting as a textile artist creating woven pieces. My textile pieces evolved into abstract mixed media art, and now I am enjoying creating abstracts, landscapes, portrait and impressionist paintings. As a self-taught artist I am always looking to study more and as I evolve as a person and artist, and my work will reflect this.

What excites me most is the completion of a project! I have a love for interior design and have decorated (a lot!) and although I actually hate decorating, I am a lover of ‘the big reveal’ and seeing a room come together. This is like the moment when my artwork begins to take form and reveal its potential. It’s a spark of discovery and the possibility of what will be that keeps me motivated and I love the ta-da moment when I feel the work is finished. I’ve also learnt to turn off the self-critical voice and use a more constructive approach as I move with the piece to completion. Now, instead of feeling ‘stuck’ when I’m at a pivotal stage, I feel curious and wait for the piece to emerge with excitement rather than frustration. I find inspiration from everything. My emotional antenna takes it all in! but I am particularly fortunate to live near the Ocean in North Cornwall; the ever-changing landscape is a source of great awe-inspiring ideas.

I’m currently working on a portrait commission and following this I have a plan for a series inspired by Hopper’s mastery of light, introspection and contemplation. After this, who knows. I’ll let the work decide….

It taught me to trust whatever was pulling me into abstraction and that the best way for me to learn how to make a painting was to try and make a painting for real, instead of starting with tests, studies and the like. That was 20 years ago, and I needed to figure it out for myself back then, but the flip-side was taking longer to learn technical stuff and not having much critical support until I was a bit older. I think rebellion in general is an important part of any artist’s practice, even just trying to make a go of it is rebelling against a lot of negative personal beliefs about being ‘worthy’ of it, for most of us anyway.

I guess one thing that stands out has been wanting to avoid using brushes too much, so I’ve ended up discovering less traditional ways to apply paint such as medical syringes, string, stones.. If I do use brushes it’s because I want the strokes to be a clear choice rather than to just fill a space. The controlled pouring of paint to create webs of thick lines was a big one. I don’t throw it about like Pollock, I’m drawing it actually quite slowly in most cases, but I do let the lines meander and then pick out forms as I go. That started very early on and still shows up in a lot of paintings.

It gave me the opportunity to work with other artists and arts professionals and see just how much goes into an exhibition beyond the art itself.

It was brilliant, I was surrounded by all kinds of creative people working in all kinds of industries. I also got to spend a lot of time with artists studying MAs at Goldsmiths and the RCA, which gave me some insight into critical thinking and discussions that I wouldn’t have got unless I was a student. There was a lot of energy and people were actually making things happen, acting on their ideas. It was here that I met people working in the live events industry, from set and stage designers to producers, performers, and musicians and everything in between, I got something akin to a community apprenticeship, learning on the job.

I like the two being separate, they compliment each other by being different. With painting I am essentially just saying ‘hey world look at me and what I made’ but within the live events work I am heading up a small cog in a big machine, we’re all working together and usually the main direction is coming from a client anyway so it’s about responding in the best you can to all the different aspects to a production. I do make work in my painting practice that explores mixing the two worlds but it’s a slow-burner research project that I’ve not shared much of yet, essentially looking at how to take the paintings into the digital world and then back in the physical by ways of projection mapping and 3D printing.

I’ll have some ideas when I start out but they’re quite loose, like a colour-pairing or just a couple of forms. The bulk of it happens as a response, it’s about looking into the image and building on it. It’s why I describe them as ‘cascading’ abstractions. It’s a nice sounding phrase, sure, but its meaning is pretty apt: a set of stages in which each stage is directly formed (or informed) by the state of the previous stage.

I’ve been getting a bit more clued up on different mediums and pigments I can use to make my own paints so I’d like to keep pushing that. I’ve also realised I’m not very good at certain sizes of paintings so I want to fix that, especially small-ish ones like around 30cm to 60cm in either dimension. It’s hard to see where my work is heading creatively as that only becomes clear in retrospect or as it’s happening.

I’ve got a virtual solo exhibition you can visit via my website and of course some work in your virtual group show currently. There are a couple of things I can’t talk about just yet but will be able to in the next couple of months. I’ll be at the Superfine Art Fair in New York in the autumn too. The most effective way to find out about what I’m up to is through my Collectors List newsletter. Instagram too if you just want a snapshot. (@jamieshaw_studio)

I started visual art (practice and theory) at high school and discovered a true passion for visual art. I managed to have a very high mark in art for my GCSE. I had a mark of 19 out of 20! Then, after high school I went to University to study clinical psychology and left my art practice behind. It is only in 2017 that I started artworks again, after a very difficult time in my life. Art saved me from the sadness, worries, difficulties etc. I felt the urge to create with, at first, very limited materials and little space (just a small desk). Now I am at a better place. But this urge to create is still here. As soon as I can, I paint.

Living in Leeds as shaped my artistic practice and style as I was living in London before, where life is far more expensive and accommodations often small places. In London I was living with flatmates, in a shared house. I had only my bedroom to create my art, on a small desk. I moved to Leeds 4 years ago and I now live in my own house, which is not big but big enough to have far more space to produce my artworks. More space and more light too. My work has evolved as when I was living in London, I was obliged to work on small formats before and now I can go bigger. Most of my works are A2 or A3 formats or some 42x42cm squares. The style is very different too. My artworks used to be led by the unintentional by pouring paint directly on a paper and apply another paper on top of the paper to create two identical paint blots on two different papers. After that, I was making intentional drawings, marks. I have done this technique from 2017 to 2023. I then changed my style. Now I paint very intuitively and I trust the process. I never know how my work will look like at the end.

I always use acrylic paint for all my recent works, for the first layers. I then use oil pastels when I feel blocked in my work and I don’t know which direction to take. I then add more layers of acrylic paint on top of the oil pastels marks. Same for the use of the pencils and ink. I use them to add marks to my work when I am a bit stuck. I add acrylic again to cover some parts of the pencils or ink. At the very end of the process, when I feel the work is almost finished, I’ll add new marks, if I feel that is needed, with pencils or pastels.

Several members of my family love my work. One of them recently bought six of my paintings to hang in his house. He says my artworks touch him deeply and he can understand my personality while looking at my paintings. He said that the use of cold and warm colours in the same works create a tension and an opposition, a paradigm. He also said to me that my paintings show that I have a rich personality and he always comments my works on a positive way on my Facebook and Instagram pages. It means the world to me to be seen and that some people love my work.

Yes, it is definitely therapeutic and transformative. When I paint, I am in a bubble, it is only me and my paints, materials etc. I make active choices and very often very intuitively. I do not think too much when I paint. I think afterwards, when the work is completed and I want to understand what the work is about. I contemplate it to delve into the meaning. Often I use red when I feel angry, soft greens are a reflection of a peaceful moment etc. I let my unconscious control me when I paint. And my unconscious is reflected onto the artworks. Creating is therapeutic and transformative as it is a way to understand ourselves better and it is healing as the is a sense of pride when I am in love with the works I created.

I love so many artists, dead and alive! Some of them have influenced my use of color and also mixed-media techniques but I do have the feeling I have always loved colours though. I appreciate a lot Pierre Soulages’s works but they are mainly black, which is the opposite of what I do. But I admire the effort and passion he put in his works. I can appreciate artists who produce very different works than mine. I also love some artists whose work is more related to mine, like Judy Woods, Nicholas Wilton, Jo Hummel, Aron Barath. All of them share the love of colours and are abstract artists. I have never been touched by figurative works, except maybe the work of Abel Burger.

I think to create joyful works, colours are a great start, composition too, and a sense of movement and three dimensions as well. I would be tempted to say that joy has to come from the inside. That if we are feeling sad it will be reflected in our work. But I think that this is not totally true. If we want to feel joyful and want the viewer to feel joyful too we can! It is a choice that we make, decisions that we take.The choice of choosing joy over pain. The choice of changing ourselves through art.

I have always loved science fiction and one of my favourite books is Oryx and Crake by Margaret Atwood.

I remember being so enthralled by the hybrid creates that appear in this book, a future vision of post-apocalypse in which mankind has managed to genetically splice all kinds of new species together, that I wanted to make them in reality myself. I made a ‘Snat’ and a ‘Liobam’, both creatures that appear in this book. Then I realised I could make all kinds of hybrids that lived in worlds of their own, that were not tied to this original story.

Of course, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but there are few of us that would deny that nature in its original form is ‘beautiful’. Animals, trees, flowers, feathers – they are all incredibly beautiful. The disturbing element comes from blending these things together. There is a cognitive dissonance that occurs. There is a push and a pull. I have come to realise that nearly all of my work is about this sense of ambivalence; can an object be two completely opposite things simultaneously? I think so, and I try to encourage others to experience this sense of duality when viewing my work.

Things often take years to come to the surface, and this particular sculpture is my direct response to the Covid pandemic, a devastating event that seems historically distant now. The ‘viral fruit’ is a giant 3D printed replica of the Covid 19 virus, that this creature is collecting like a squirrel might collect a nut. It is symbolic of a world gone haywire due to mankind’s interference.

Was the virus originally manufactured? Did it pass from bats to pangolins to humans, mutating along the way? In the age of misinformation it’s impossible to know in any absolute sense how things come to be. In the same way that the creatures in Oryx and Crake are left inhabiting an unrecognisable world, the viral fruit has lost its origin.

I am constantly ‘patterning’, that is looking for elements that repeat and blend cohesively. There is usually a eureka moment when I know something will work, for instance, in this piece, the pattern on the turtle shell coupled with the pattern on the pheasant feathers.

My work often directly references specific cultural ideas. For instance I have made a whole series of religious deities (The goddess Kali, The Buddha, The Virgin Mary) but the work is just as likely to be totally unique in its own right.

In a fantasy world, I can see it inhabiting a beautiful yet dangerous ecosystem on some far-flung planet we have yet to discover. Think Pandora in Avatar or The Shimmer in Annihilation. In the real world, a not too distant future in which genetic splicing has become a reality and we have screwed things up to devastating effect.

Curiosity, awe and wonder, questions of ethics, self-reflection on one’s own mortality, our personal responsibilities in terms of the massive environmental problems we are facing.

In essence I’m trying to evoke a sense that we’re living in a time of great global uncertainty, chaos even, and, like the Covid pandemic, we have no idea what’s around the corner; if we open Pandora’s Box we have no idea what will be unleashed. I’ve always liked that quote from Jurassic Park, “Your scientists were so preoccupied with whether or not they could, they didn’t stop to think if they should…”

Recently I had someone burst into tears and cry inconsolably for an hour or so, overcome with intense sadness, which was a real surprise. They then proceeded to buy a piece of my work!

I have also had people leave my gallery feeling absolutely horrified.

As a child of the 90’s I was greatly influenced by the art of that time. The work was often wildly shocking and challenging. Think massive paintings of Myra Hindley made out of children’s handprints, or a severed cows head with a swarm of flies being zapped by an insectocutor, or sitting in a box with a man while blood drips out of his wrists. This is the artistic canon that I belong to. However I imagine these kinds of works probably wouldn’t get made today because they would be deemed ‘too offensive’. I worry about freedom of speech in the arts in general in today’s climate.

I would love to see my hybrid animals moving in real time. I can imagine a deepfake nature documentary following the secret life of this creature narrated by David Attenborough. With the rapid evolution of AI technology this doesn’t seem too far-fetched (and if there are any amazingly talented CGI artists out there that would like to get in touch, please do!).

A series of acid attacks on women’s faces by strangers in the city of Isfahan in central Iran deeply shook me a decade ago. These attacks left permanent scars on their victims and created a new form of public trauma. Around the same time, I started experimenting with etching images on copper-clad boards, materials traditionally used for printed circuit boards. The symbolism of acid as a destructive force, repurposed to create art, resonated with me on a deeply emotional level. Over the years, these boards have become a canvas to explore ideas of memory, destruction, and creation.

This collection has been both a confrontation and a refuge. The disintegration I reference is not just external—it is deeply personal. By working with these materials and creating each piece, I have been able to articulate what often feels inexpressible: the loss, the anger, the longing, and the resilience. The collection reflects fragments of beauty and love amid devastation, a reminder of the light that persists even in the darkest moments.

These photographs were not just images; they were emotional portals. They brought back scents, textures, and fragmented memories of a world that was both distant and intimate. Revisiting them reminded me of the fragility and resilience of human connection, especially in cities that have witnessed so much love and turmoil. These cities not only represent a shared history of conflict and survival but also embody personal and collective stories of resistance, love, and hope.

Balancing photography and painting is not just a technical process but an emotional one. Photography is my way of capturing the ephemeral—a moment of love, despair, or stillness—while painting allows me to transform those moments into layered narratives. The challenge lies in knowing when to stop, when the image has said enough. Sometimes, I overwork a piece and have to start all over again, but this process is integral to my practice.

The creation of each piece is a multi-layered process that constantly moves between the digital and physical worlds. I begin by digitally editing the photograph, adjusting its lines and contrasts, and then transferring it onto the copper-clad board using a laser engraving machine. Afterwards, the board is submerged in acid, which etches the design into the copper layer. I often repeat this step several times to achieve the desired depth and texture. Finally, I fill the etched areas with acrylic paint and complete the work with layers of hand-painted details. This process creates a richly textured surface, inviting viewers to discover new elements with each glance. The moment I pull a piece out of the acid bath feels like unearthing a story that has been hidden for centuries.

I want viewers to feel the weight of the disintegration we face and the hope that persists despite it. These works are about love—love in times of loss, longing in times of despair, and resilience in times of chaos. My hope is that viewers leave with a renewed awareness of the fragility and strength of human connection.

This project has reinforced my belief in the necessity of art as a tool for witnessing and documenting life’s complexities. It has pushed me to refine my techniques and to trust in the alchemy of process—how destruction can lead to creation. It has also deepened my commitment to telling stories that might otherwise remain untold.

My next project will further explore the themes of memory and transformation but on a more intimate scale. I am also experimenting with new materials and techniques that push the boundaries of what a “painting” can be. In the end, every new project is an attempt to uncover light amidst darkness and to tell the stories that demand to be told.

What draws me to tranquillity is the feeling itself. I’ve always sought freedom and stillness, and my art allows me to create and experience that sense of peace. Spending time in nature, especially on walks, deepens this connection and inspires me to capture the quiet, reflective beauty of the world around us.

For me, it begins with a feeling or a small moment of inspiration whether from something I’ve observed, a memory, or even a daydream. I use painting as a way to process life’s journeys, channelling my emotions into colour, texture, and movement on the canvas.

Sunsets have a natural way of slowing us down. They’re fleeting yet profound, offering a sense of closure and renewal. For me, they symbolize life’s transitions and remind us to pause and appreciate the beauty in the moment. Nature, in general, holds that same timeless serenity I strive to capture.

Daydreaming fuels my creativity. I often imagine places I’d love to escape to or revisit sometimes inspired by my own experiences, other times by Ghibli films with their peaceful, enchanting landscapes. Once the idea forms, I sketch it out, then use layers of color and texture to bring it to life, building the mood and depth until it feels complete.

I enjoy experimenting with light, shadow, and texture to mimic the richness of nature. Layering adds depth, inviting viewers to feel immersed in the scene. This approach helps me explore themes of stillness and movement simultaneously, reflecting the complexities of the natural world.

I hope my work feels like an invitation to pause, reflect, and escape into a moment of calm. Whether it’s a sense of wonder, peace, or nostalgia, I want viewers to feel like they’re on their own journey through the landscapes I create.

When someone tells me my art makes them feel peaceful or inspired, it means everything. Knowing that my work can provide a brief escape or touch someone emotionally is the most fulfilling feedback I could hope for.

Claude Monet, Vincent van Gogh, and Hayao Miyazaki have been huge influences. Monet’s use of light, Van Gogh’s emotional brushwork, and Miyazaki’s serene yet whimsical depictions of nature all resonate with me. Their works inspire my love for landscapes and my aim to create beauty that feels alive and meaningful.

I’m currently exploring still-life painting and experimenting with new techniques in impressionistic nature art. I hope to push my boundaries while staying true to my themes of peace, wonder, and connection to the natural world.

I’ve been drawn to skulls and skeletons for a long time. Initially, it was their intricate forms and the aura they carry that captivated me. However, the more research I did, the more I became fascinated by the profound meanings they hold and the universal symbols they represent. Skulls resonate across cultures and history, serving as powerful reminders of life’s dualities.
Through my exploration, I’ve discovered their potential as a creative medium, offering endless possibilities to expand upon in innovative ways. For me, they represent more than mortality—they are a celebration of the beauty and complexity of existence. They embody the duality of fragility and resilience, and this contrast is something I find deeply inspiring in my work.

Society often associates death with fear, sorrow, and the unknown, making it an uncomfortable and sometimes even taboo topic. There’s a natural tendency to avoid confronting it, perhaps because it reminds us of our vulnerability and the inevitability of mortality. In my cultural background, growing up in Asia, I experienced firsthand how deeply ingrained these perceptions can be. When I first shared my work with friends, some were hesitant to even touch the pieces, finding the realistic skulls I created unsettling or associating them with bad luck.

This reaction inspired me to approach the subject differently. While my intricate skull designs challenge these traditional views, I also created “Tiny Man” (the little guys on top of “The Dance of Death”.) as a cuter, more approachable way to interpret skulls and skeletons. By blending charm with deeper meaning, Tiny Man offers a less intimidating interpretation of mortality. Through jewellery, I aim to present death as a natural part of life, inviting people to reflect on its beauty and inevitability.

I understand why some might perceive my work as “dark art” due to its visual association with skulls and mortality. However, I see it as the opposite—it’s about light, remembrance, and gratitude. I often explain that my intention is not to dwell on death but to highlight the beauty and meaning of life. My work is a celebration of the moments, memories, and connections that define us, even in the face of impermanence.

Yes, I’ve witnessed many instances where people’s views evolved after engaging with my work. Often, those who initially described my pieces as “dark” or “creepy” shifted their perception once they understood the deeper intention—to celebrate life, embrace its fragility, and find comfort in the inevitability of loss. These moments remind me of the importance of storytelling in helping others connect with my creations on a personal level.

The process begins with introspection and storytelling, considering how experiences like love, loss, and remembrance can be expressed through form and material. I use textures and motifs, such as cracks or organic shapes, to reflect life’s fragility, while choosing enduring materials like bronze or sterling silver to symbolize permanence.

When we die, our flesh disintegrates, but our skulls endure—just as jewellery often outlasts other belongings. Clothes may decompose, but jewellery remains. For me, skulls, like jewellery, serve as powerful symbols of life, death, and the essential matters that connect them. Each piece is thoughtfully crafted to evoke emotions and invite personal interpretation, bridging the eternal with the ephemeral.

One deeply memorable experience occurred during an exhibition. A viewer was initially drawn to “The Dance of Death” and expressed interest in their playful and approachable style. When I explained the intention behind my work—to honour life’s fragility and preserve the beauty of love and memory—she shared a heartfelt story about her friend’s lost daughter.

She mentioned how my designs, especially the The Dance of Death, could offer solace in grief. She told me that, in her view, the most important thing in a relationship is the memories created together, which resonated deeply with my belief that love never truly fades but lives on in the moments we cherish. This conversation not only validated the emotional essence of my work but also demonstrated how it could connect with others on a deeply personal level, offering comfort and affirming the enduring power of love and memory.

I hope they feel a sense of connection—to their memories, loved ones, and even themselves. I want my jewellery to serve as a reminder to appreciate life’s fleeting beauty and to embrace both the joy and the sorrow that make us human. Ultimately, I hope it brings comfort, gratitude, and introspection.

I would like my art to be remembered as a celebration of life through the lens of mortality. I hope it sparks meaningful conversations and helps people find peace and gratitude in the cycle of life and death. My wish is for my work to continue inspiring reflection and connection, even long after I’m gone.

I’m currently developing a new jewellery collection inspired by Casablanca lilies and dying flowers—a poetic exploration of the beauty and fragility of life. This collection offers another perspective on life’s impermanence, showcasing the elegance found in decay and transformation. Additionally, I am actively seeking opportunities to participate in exhibitions and competitions to share my beliefs and connect with a wider audience.

Living in a rural environment means I’m constantly surrounded by nature. The changing seasons strongly influence my creative process. For example, in summer I’m drawn to working outside with lighter, brighter colours that reflect the season. In autumn, I watched mushrooms growing in my garden from my studio which inspired me to paint their brief beauty. Now in winter, I am struggling with being indoors and the scarcity of natural light. This has led me to begin a series of works inspired by memories of brighter days and scenes from my imagination, helping me to feel more connected with nature.

I find serenity and joy through the flow state when painting and my mind is able to wander freely. In this process, I capture my thoughts on the canvas.

My perspective on menopause is ultimately positive. Now I have a regime that works for me, I’ve gained a deeper understanding of my resilience and optimism. With my work, I aim to capture this joy and energy.

My childhood memories are complex. For example, the experience of riding my dad’s windsurfer as shown in ‘Sun Blast’. Although this experience was scary as we sailed through jellyfish, I remember the initial joy and lasting connection with my dad. Through my work, I aim to express this interplay of emotions.

Living further from the sea has made me realise its significance in my life. I’m drawn to the wide open views stretching to the horizon which evoke freedom and possibility. Tides are fascinating to me. The ebb and flow of the sea create an ever changing landscape. It’s this constant movement and energy that inspires me. I aim to capture that vibrancy and powerful presence in my work.

Where I grew up was suburban, but looking back, I find myself drawn to the idea of a more rural childhood. This is a kind of imagined nostalgia for a connection to nature I feel I’ve always lacked. This longing influences my artistic vision, as nature frequently emerges as a theme in my work. It reflects my desire to spend more time immersed in the natural world, both as an escape and a source of inspiration.

Through my art, I explore this imagined relationship with nature, creating a sense of harmony and connection I’ve often felt was missing.

I hope my art brings a sense of joy and calm to my audience, offering an escape from daily stresses. When I view abstract work, I feel a sense of freedom, like an invitation to let my thoughts wander. This is the experience I aim to create for others through my work. I want my art to be a space where viewers can pause, reflect, and find a moment of peace and connection, sparking emotions that uplift and inspire.

One of the most surprising art critiques I received was about the ‘lonely figure’ in my work Missing the Pier. To me, this ‘figure’ was an abstract representation of one of the pier’s posts, but a viewer interpreted it as a solitary figure, evoking a sense of isolation. Their perspective made me realise that, unconsciously, I had conveyed my own melancholy and longing for the sea through that element. It was a reminder of how art can reveal emotions I wasn’t fully aware I was expressing.

I’m currently exploring my experiences as a middle-aged woman. In the past, women my age were often expected to fade into the background, but that’s no longer the case. We’re reclaiming our space in the world, and it’s empowering.
In terms of exhibitions, on January 4th, my work will be showcased on a huge screen in Times Square, New York. Additionally, I have several large pieces on display at BobCat Gallery in Putney throughout January.

I’m also working with the incredible women who own my favourite slow fashion shop. They’re going to feature my work, which is a fantastic opportunity to connect with a new audience and work with inspiring women. I’m excited to see where these opportunities take me!