For a long time, I didn’t think of myself as a brave person.

I was someone who stayed small. Someone who kept the louder parts of herself tucked safely away. Speaking up, standing out, claiming space as fully myself—those things felt uncomfortable. Risky, even. Shrinking often felt like the safer option.

Part of that, I know now, came from the quiet messages many women absorb growing up. The idea that being agreeable is easier. That softness is more acceptable than certainty. That taking up too much space might make others uncomfortable.

But even when I followed those unspoken rules, something about it never felt quite right.

There was always a pull toward something else.

I found myself drawn to people who were unapologetically themselves. People who seemed willing to be seen exactly as they were.

I admired that kind of bravery.

I just didn’t believe it was something available to me.

Growing up, I didn’t have big ambitions for myself beyond wanting to be a mother. And for a long time, I believed that was enough—that choosing motherhood meant quietly setting aside other possibilities.

It wasn’t until my thirties, when my children were at school, that I allowed myself to imagine something more.

Going to university to study art changed everything.

It was the first time I began to understand that different wasn’t something to hide. It was something to honour.

And somewhere in that time, red began to appear.

At first, it showed up as red dresses in my university work. Later, it became red flowers.

Different forms, but carrying the same feeling.

To me, red has come to represent bravery.

Not the loud, fearless kind. But something quieter. More personal.

The kind of bravery that asks us to trust ourselves .To follow what feels true. To stand out, even when it feels uncomfortable. To take up space in ways we once avoided.

Looking back now, I can see that those red forms were saying something before I had the words for it. They were marking a shift. A movement toward visibility. Toward expression. Toward becoming more fully myself.

That’s why red flowers continue to appear in my paintings again and again.

They’re more than a visual motif. They’re part of a thread that runs through everything I make.

A quiet reminder of what can happen when we stop shrinking.

And what becomes possible when we allow ourselves to be seen.

There are a few of these red threads still available in my current body of work.