Covers in Conversation

Q: Can you tell us a little about how these paintings came into being—what was happening in your life, or in your thinking, while you were making them?

A: Right now, I am living in Germany, but my home is in Spain. In terms of landscape, climate, and character, the two countries are both amazing in their own way, but very different. Here in Germany, I often feel nostalgic about the tiny Spanish villages you can stumble across while driving through the countryside or along a coastal road, and I think that is how “Pastels 1” and “3” came into being. They are both blurred visions of different Spanish landscapes. They do not represent any concrete place—just memories that I preserve in my mind.

Q: When you begin a new piece, what usually leads the way: an image in mind, a feeling, or the act of painting itself?

A: I love sitting in front of a blank canvas and not having a clue. The canvas instantly becomes a problem-solving exercise that tests me from the first to the last brushstroke. First, I cover the base with a colour, and then I wait to see what happens. Usually, a plan starts to take form fairly quickly, but sometimes I have to go away and come back to the canvas at a later stage.

Q: Do these works come from memory, imagination, or something in between?

A: These works come from somewhere in between memory and imagination, I think. The borders are almost always blurred.

Q: What part of the process do you enjoy most—and what part tests your patience the most?

A: Each blank canvas is an unknown journey. Often, that journey becomes an intrepid expedition. It is frustrating: the act of painting takes a course that is unexpected and maybe not exactly what I hope for or even like. My patience is tested as I try to steer my work through a different course. It becomes a sort of battle between me and art. I don’t always win. Sometimes I end up with a painting, and I can’t even begin to explain how the process unfolded.

Q: How do you know when a painting is finished? Is it a clear moment, or more of a quiet decision?

A: When it’s done, it’s done. This is the simple mantra that I have learnt to follow through trial and error. When I started painting seven years ago, it was so easy to overpaint or underpaint my work. It was difficult to know when to stop. Now, I sort of know when a painting is finished. It’s just a feeling. If I am not sure, I put my paintbrushes aside for twenty-four hours and come back to look at the painting then.

Q: Could you tell us some of your artistic journey that led to having one of your works featured as a cover for an indie literary magazine?

A: I’m half English and half Irish. I grew up near Liverpool in the UK, and after high school, I studied languages at the University of Durham. After university, I went on to become an English language teacher in Spain. I had no idea that I could paint until much later in life.

I had been politely asked to leave my art class in high school after I had been naughty in class (I was in that horrible too-cool-for-school phase), and since then I had held a certain disdain for art.

After leaving the UK, my family and I moved around a lot, living in places such as Istanbul (Turkey), Ceuta (North Africa), and Craiova (Romania), as well as many cities within Spain. Being on the move, raising a family, and working didn’t give me much time or inclination to indulge in my creative side.

The pandemic period—coinciding with me entering my fifth decade—was my awakening. I suddenly had so much free time on my hands. I taught myself to write to entertain myself, and I invested in a set of acrylic paints, some canvases, and a few brushes. I enjoyed writing, but I was instantly smitten with painting, and my fascination with paint took its own meandering course.

I paint every day now. However, initially, I was very shy about showing my work. Having had no formal training of any sort, I was hugely critical of my paintings and lacked confidence in myself.

After a great deal of trepidation, I started submitting my paintings for review in 2024, and I was flabbergasted by the amount of positive feedback I received. In fact, one of the reviews that cheered me on in the early days was Quibble Lit. Having three paintings accepted for Quibble Vessel gave me a huge boost—thank you, Garrett.

Being published by several magazines gave me the courage to look into exhibiting my work. I have since had two exhibitions in Germany, and I currently have an exhibition of forty pieces at Cavendish Venues, 44 Hallam Street, London. In 2025, my art was nominated four times for Best of the Net. At the moment, I am preparing to display more paintings here in Germany.

Creativity is an unexpected journey, and I can’t wait to see where it takes me in 2026 and beyond.

Q: If one of these paintings could speak for itself, what do you think it would say—or refuse to say? If it were music, what might it sound like to you?

A: I’m going to quote Calderón de la Barca here, as I think this passage from his most well-known play reflects how I feel about my paintings:

“¿Qué es la vida? Un frenesí.
¿Qué es la vida? Una ilusión,
una sombra, una ficción;
y el mayor bien es pequeño;
que toda la vida es sueño,
y los sueños, sueños son.”

As a piece of music, we would have to listen—and bop and sing along—to the lyrics of “Soñaré” by the Spanish band La Oreja de Van Gogh. I’ll leave you to find and translate the beautiful lyrics.

https://youtu.be/ahApww2N7tg

Q: What’s something about your work—or your process—that people almost never ask about, but you wish they would?

A: I am going to rephrase this question, if that’s okay with you, Garrett.

What’s something about your work—or your process—that people ask about, but you wish they wouldn’t?

Long before I started to paint, I asked a good friend about her father’s art. John Edgar Newton was an incredible artist—probably a genius. My blunt question was, “How many paintings has he sold?” She replied, “None,” and I was shocked.

She earnestly tried to explain that the sale of a painting was not the measure of success for an artist, and I couldn’t even begin to understand. Now that I paint, I fully comprehend.

Yes, there is a little high when somebody wants a painting or compliments my art. Yes, it’s a thrill when a review wants to publish a painting. Yes, it’s wonderful when someone wishes to display my art. However, I have learnt that art is so much deeper than that.

It’s quite difficult to explain, because the feeling is so intangible and even whimsical, but the real satisfaction in my art lies in producing a piece that embodies something impalpable but meaningful—far removed from anything material.

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