Why do we do it?

Endurance, Expressive seascape

It’s a question I ask myself a lot, usually when I’m halfway through a painting, covered in splatters, slightly cold, and unsure if I’m painting sea spray or just expressing my emotional turbulence.

The short answer is that I need to.

Not in a tortured artist way. Not because someone once told me I had a “gift” (although let’s be honest, I’m not completely terrible). I do it because my mind can be a bit of a chaotic whirlwind, and painting is the one thing that calms the storm. My brain’s default setting is busy, I’m sure many of you reading this know that restless feeling too.

Thoughts, feelings, memories, all swirling like a stormy sky over the west coast of Scotland, Cornwall or anywhere there is a coastline. (Do you see what I did there?) In another life, I used to channel it into rock climbing. Something about the focus and the movement gave me peace.

But then life, as it often does, had other plans, and I had to find something else to focus on. After having to give up my career as a chef in Scotland, I must admit, I was a little lost for a while. I studied nutrition to help with my own newly diagnosed condition, and helped a few others do the same. Then I found some old paints and canvas and….here we are today.

If I couldn't be in the wilds of the Highlands of Scotland or walking at sunrise in Cornwall before a hectic breakfast service, I could at least remember it. How the wind and salty air took my breath away, and I forgot all the noise in my head. The light and constantly changing colours of Scotland, especially in winter, kept me distracted.

In the end, we don’t just paint what we see, we paint what it feels like to be there. At least that’s what I am trying to do.

There’s something about wild coastlines, especially in Scotland and Cornwall, that makes you feel small yet calm. I’d walk, slowly, watch the clouds change shape, and just breathe. And at some point, I started painting.

Not to capture a perfect view. Not to make a pretty picture. Just to express what it felt like to stand there.

The weather. The stillness. The storm.
The space to just be.

Thank you for reading.

Melissa x

When your painting holiday throws you lemons.

Loch Long, Sallachy, Skye and Lochalsh Photo credit Mark McDonald

Happy New Year! As many of you who follow my social media updates are aware, I spent three weeks in the beautiful highlands of Scotland in December. Yes, nice for some, you think, (it was) and it would have all been amazing if it had not been for a few life hiccups just before I went and then spending the first week and a half once there laid down with the Flu. Although the view above was what we had from the sick sofa…hence the title of this blog.

I had intended to paint paint paint as soon as we got there but after a week of arguing about who was going to get up and make the soup, I felt a little less inspired. After some recovery, I got out and about to explore the stunning atmospheric west coast of Scotland, specifically the Achnasheen area. The rain and wind had returned but I didn’t care. The first walk on that first beach after being cooped up was simply put, bliss. I know it’s a bit corny but, I felt alive.

I immediately got my panels and paints out and set about it. My fingers were frozen and sand kept blowing on my wet canvas but this just made the experience more shall we say, invigorating? Not painful at all…

I’m working on a new series of artwork based on this recent trip to the Scottish coast and will show some progress photos on my social media. I am currently showing work with two other amazing artists in the Land to Sea exhibition at Abington Park Gallery in Northampton and will be delivering work to London for the Wales Contemporary exhibition starting in March.

Melissa