In short, employing the bots to recommend poems for me is making my art - and life - more soulful. But what happened this week has given me pause, and a great deal of concern for the future of technology, trust, and truth.

Attending their exhibition in Amsterdam, I was astounded to see how rich Banksy’s creative career has been … graffiti, drawings, paintings, prints using various different print techniques, sculptures, huge public installations, street art in war zones, documentaries … The diversity and skill across so many different mediums is astounding. The clarity of their voice - regardless of the medium of expression - is a wonder to witness, and I found their commitment to using art for social activism inspiring.

A friend asked me recently what I love most about making art. Without thinking, I said: “Making things that never existed before - things that surprise and delight me - feels like magic. Like happy mysteries.”

And that’s it. That’s what keeps calling me back to the creative process, even when it’s hard. The happy mysteries. The reminder that not all surprises are bad. And some are breathtakingly good.

I love looking for crops of compositions that I enjoy. It's a great way to discover new ideas and figure out what you love and don't love.

The muse took me in an unexpected direction with a recent commission, and it's opened up a whole new world of exploration for me!

When creating a landscape painting, I usually like to immerse myself in the environment—walking, cycling, running, or swimming. Moving through the landscape allows me to explore more of it while also getting out of my head and feeling more connected to both my body and the sensory experience of the place. Since I couldn’t visit this landscape in person, I sought other ways to engage with it on a sensory level. 

I'm still enjoying reflecting on and digesting the lessons from the wonderful workshop last weekend with artist, David Mankin, at Coombe Farm Studios.

I don’t always know why a collector has chosen a particular artwork when they buy it, but when they do share, it’s always such a delight and wonder to see the resonance between my intentions for the artwork (which they often didn’t know about when they first felt drawn to the artwork) and where they’re at in their life…

Each time I review my bio and artist statement for a submission or exhibition, I have a little to and fro with myself about how much I want to share about myself. My art practice is a container for my own exploration, expression, meaning-making, and healing. It’s inseparably linked to who I am and how I experience the world, including my experiences with – and responses to – loss, chronic illness, and disabilities. So every time I share my story, it feels like an incredibly vulnerable thing to share…

In my research process for the commission I’m working on (an abstract landscape inspired by rural Dubbo in Australia), I used a tool that we used when we were preparing to immigrate to the Netherlands and choosing a neighbourhood to live in… Google maps will give you a wonderful bird’s eye view of the landscape.