Your paintings have a distinctive sense of atmosphere and calm. How does mindfulness influence the way you begin and develop a piece?
I find that the act of painting itself creates a state of mindfulness. It demands a complete presence, an immersion in the physical process of mixing colour, applying paint, and responding intuitively to what unfolds on the canvas. The process mediates between my internal world and the image that eventually emerges.
Time in the studio is when I feel most fully myself, for me it is a deeply internal experience. It’s less about external expression and more about being in close contact with something inward and instinctive. That sense of quiet focus and introspection naturally filters into the work.
The calm people often notice in my paintings isn’t something I consciously impose. It may come from my tendency towards a more muted colour palette, or from the delicacy in how the surfaces are built. But I think it’s also a byproduct of that mindful state, a stillness that develops through the process rather than being deliberately constructed.
When shaping an idea, do you work from observation, photographs, memory or sketchbooks, and how does that early stage affect the mood of the finished painting?
I never work directly from photographs, but I use a camera and a sketchbook to record ideas and capture something that interests me, for example a certain colour combination or composition. I rarely reference back to these when I am painting but what I notice is the ideas that I recorded can appear in my work, sometimes years later.
I don’t begin with a fixed idea of what the painting will become. In fact, I rarely know what the work is until it has started to resolve itself.
The first marks on the canvas are made in a state of relative freedom, guided by instinct and shaped by the unpredictable behaviour of the paint itself. It is the point in the process where I have the least control, allowing chance and material to play an active role.
These initial gestures are almost always obscured as the work develops. My approach is one of continual negotiation, painting, removing, and repainting, so the surface evolves through layers of response and revision.
Even when those early marks are no longer visible, I feel they are intrinsic to how the painting arrives at its conclusion.
Could you talk us through your process from initial inspiration to the final brushstroke?
I don’t begin with a fixed idea or a specific source of inspiration that I set out to paint. As a full-time painter, the impetus comes from the act of painting itself. One work leads naturally into another: it’s a continuous process of doing, rather than a search for something external to depict. In that sense, “inspiration” can feel like the wrong word, the energy comes from engagement, from the physical act of applying paint and responding to work that came before.
My process is rooted in a balance between freedom and control. I begin with openness, allowing the paint to move, to create texture, to suggest possibilities. Then, gradually, I assert more control, responding to what is in front of me and shaping it into something more deliberate. This duality feels intrinsic to who I am: I am drawn both to spontaneity and to structure, and that tension is echoed in the work.
Certain themes recur, not as conscious starting points but as natural returns. Living by the coast, I often reference water in my paintings, through the repetition of lines to create movement, and glazes to create translucency. The straight horizon line has also become a persistent element. Even when I try to avoid it, I’m drawn back to it. Formally, it divides the canvas and conceptually, it has begun to function as a kind of metaphor. It suggests a threshold, between above and below, exterior and interior, the physical and metaphysical. It allows for a quiet coexistence of different states within the same space.
I work on multiple paintings at once, usually around ten, which allows ideas to move across surfaces without becoming constrained. Working in series creates a sense of freedom; each painting can hold a fragment of an idea, rather than carrying the weight of resolving everything. I build layers using acrylic as I like the speed in which it dries allowing me to build layers quickly. The early stages are the most intuitive, letting the paint lead and discovering forms as they emerge.
Over time, suggestions of landscape appear, often accompanied by simplified boat forms or recurring motifs like the moon. I think of these elements less as literal representations and more as markers, subtle indications of presence, or ways of locating ourselves within a space.
As a painting develops, the process shifts. Decisions become more precise, and the balance tips toward control. The final stages are about resolution, knowing when to hold back, when to refine, and ultimately, when to stop.
Colour plays an important role in your work. How do you build your palette, and does your state of mind ever influence your colour choices?
My palette is quite limited. I have a black, a white, maybe three different blues, three different reds and three different yellows. From these colours I can mix everything I need. I often combine acrylic paint with mediums to create glazes, which allows for translucency and layers to show through.
My colours tend to be muted rather than bright, perhaps a reflection of living in the UK rather than somewhere sunnier! Blue features prominently, but I must be mindful of my over-use of blue, I try and impose some restrictions on myself in the studio to avoid falling into habitual patterns. I don’t use colour to reflect my mood, but my mood can be changed by the use of colour.
How do you balance planning and intuition in your compositions while maintaining a sense of flow?
I have learnt (over the years) how to intuitively find the composition within the painting. It’s not something I plan, but I have learnt to follow the threads, see the prompts, to discard ideas and not be afraid to paint over parts of a painting that isn’t working. My paintings can shift drastically; sometimes work that looks like a finished painting can be almost entirely re-worked if it doesn’t feel right. Being in a state of flow is a rare thing for me, for the most part, painting is a struggle, a roller coaster of emotions but there are times when the hours pass and I am not sure where the time went.
Many readers paint to unwind. What practical steps would you suggest for making painting time more restorative and focused?
A dedicated workspace is important so that you don’t have to tidy everything away at the end of the day. It doesn’t have to be big – even just a dedicated table will do.
Setting aside time with no distractions. When I am in my studio, I am working and I approach it as a structured working day.
Have all your materials to hand so that your work time is not interrupted or restricted by not having the right tools.
It is nice to have something new to experiment with, for example a new brush or tool so that you keep the sense of exploration and discovery fresh.
A good podcast to listen to, I find music too distracting and silence too intense, but whatever works for you!
When a painting isn’t going to plan, how do you resolve it – both technically and mentally?
I will usually leave the painting and try not to look at it for a few days. When that time has passed, I can view it with a fresh perspective and see how I might resolve it, or feel less precious about painting over it. If it is the latter, I will only partly obscure what is already there because I like to reveal what lies beneath the surface. This is also why it is important to work on several paintings at the same time. So that you can walk away and work on something else.
How do you know when a painting is finished, and do you feel viewers can sense the calm or attention present in its making?
In the final stages of a painting, the painting has mostly been resolved, and I will make smaller adjustments until it gets to a tipping point, and I can see that by adding anything more will be too much.Because I leave traces of under-paintings and abandoned ideas showing through the layers, even if you are not aware of this, I hope it communicates the journey of process.
Can you describe your studio space and how it supports your creative and approach?
I have a studio in a converted roof space at the top of my house. It presents some challenges because of the sloping ceiling and limited light produced by the sky lights but working from home allows me to be flexible and work long hours if needed. I have adapted to working in the space by placing long trestle tables along either side of the room under the Velux windows to make the most of the light and the usable space. The floor is exposed floorboards, and the walls are white so I am not worried about paint getting everywhere.
In a small space it helps to be organised and as well as my working space, I have areas for packing materials, canvases, frames, prints and books.
I have a distant view of the sea from my studio which I love.
Do you organise your materials in a particular way to encourage flow and focus?
I have an old tea- trolly that belonged to my grandparents which I keep all my paints on. I have this next to me when I am working – as its on wheels, I can move it around the studio.
At the start of the day, I remove all the lids of my paint pots so that I can easily and quickly access the paint whilst I’m working. I have a large sheet of glass on my trestle table that I use as a palette. I also have 2 large buckets of water next to me; one is for cleaning most of the paint off a brush the other is for leaving the brushes in. I change the water and properly clean the brushes every couple of days.
How important is light in your workspace, and how do you make the most of it?
I make the most of the light in my studio by placing my work trestles underneath the skylights. I also have a couple of studio lights on tripods that I can move around which is especially important in the winter when natural light is limited.
Do you work to a structured routine, or does your studio time change depending on your energy and commitments?
Because my art practice is full-time, I am in the studio every day and I treat it like going to work. If I have an exhibition deadline then I can sometimes be in the studio 7 days a week. This has recently become easier now that my kids are older and independent.
What small changes could readers make to their own painting space to create a calmer, more inspiring environment?
We are all different and like to work in different ways, I like an organised space but an artist like Rose Wylie thrives in a space with decades of paint and paper across every surface. An artist’s space is very personal, so my advice would be to create a space that you want to be in, that makes you feel comfortable and relaxed. Then the work will follow…
