I wasn't sure I was going to write a Glimmers email this week. It's been a difficult week, and if I'm honest, I didn't really feel like finding five lovely things to share with you. Everything felt a little too much.

One thing I've been thinking about this week is how life is constantly asking us to let go of one thing so something new can find its way in. Sometimes that's a difficult goodbye. Sometimes it's simply trying a different routine, meeting new people or saying yes to a small change that ends up feeling just right. There can be sadness and gratitude sitting side by side, and somehow they both make the ordinary moments shine a little brighter. Here are a few of the glimmers that

I've noticed something this week. Every one of my glimmers seemed to carry the same quiet thread running through them... hope. Not the loud, dramatic kind, but the gentle reminders that beauty, kindness and possibility are still all around us. Sometimes they're found in extraordinary moments, and sometimes they're as simple as a roast potato or climbing into a warm bed at the end of the day. Whatever form they take, I hope these five glimmers help you notice a few of your own

Some weeks the glimmers feel easy to find. Other weeks, they ask you to look a little closer. This has been one of those weeks for me. I’ve found myself feeling a little flat as the reality of preparing for the Affordable Art Fair starts to sink in. Deadlines have a funny way of bringing both excitement and pressure, and there is a lot of faith involved in being creative. You put time, energy and money into something long before you know what it will become.

This week's glimmers nearly didn't happen. I keep a note on my phone where I jot things down as they happen, and by Friday I looked at it to find... one lonely item. For a moment I thought perhaps this wasn't a very glimmery week after all. Then I started thinking about it. Maybe that's the point. The happiest people are often said to be those who practice gratitude, not because life is always easier for them, but because they've trained themselves to notice the small things

I literally paint flowers on walls. So perhaps it was inevitable that one day I would become a wallflower myself. Not the romantic kind from novels. The grey sweatshirt kind. The "don't mind me" kind. The kind that quietly slips into the background without really noticing.

This week feels like one of those weeks where ideas have been arriving faster than I can catch them. Thoughts scribbled in notes, strange dreams, little moments of comfort, and tiny reminders that joy doesn't always arrive loudly. Here are this week's glimmers...

These little things have often helped me make sense of this one precious life. I’ve been trying to find my way over the last few years, trying to find a way of sharing my art practice that feels like me. That isn't always easy when, even at 56, you still feel like you’re working out who that is. But perhaps that is the point of everything anyway... discovering who you are and realising you may never fully arrive.

I’ve been sitting with whether to share anything at all. Part of me wants to fold this time away and keep it close. Perhaps it’s the Englishness in me — that quiet instinct that says not to make a fuss, to stay private, to carry on. But I’ve also spent years sharing pieces of life and the feelings that sit beneath it all, because that is where my work has always lived. Home, belonging, beauty, love, the ordinary things that somehow become the most important things. I read a l

For a long time, I didn’t think of myself as a brave person. But there was always something in me that wanted more. This is the story of how red began to appear in my work—and what it came to represent.

A reflective piece on radical optimism — holding both the heaviness of life and a quiet, honest sense of hope through art, creativity and everyday moments.

One of the strangest and most beautiful things about making art is that sometimes you don’t fully understand what you’re doing while you’re doing it. You simply follow what feels right. Certain colours return. Certain shapes appear again and again. You paint them because something inside you says yes, even if you couldn’t explain why. For me, red and blue have always been those colours. I’ve tried to step away from them at times, wondering if something softer or more neutral