A Winter in Wales
On the left is the last little painting I shared, back in December, before taking a break from social media for a few months. This winter was another tough one; even though my mental health has been improving tremendously I’ve been feeling pretty exhausted from the last few (29?) years and hoped for a slow Winter in nature for me to rest and recharge. It didn’t quite go as planned but beyond some rough patches there was a lot of warmth, from the people I’ve met, the things I’ve sketched and the way I’ve learned to take care of myself - a Winter where after it got worse, it did get better!
A rough start of 2024
Back in October I had fallen in love with Wales as I was visiting the country for the first time, driving around and through, catching the last summer days. I loved the winding roads, the pubs warmed by fireplaces and stoves, overhearing people chatting about their hikes and outdoor joys, the warmth I could feel at every encounter. I went to London then France for the end of 2023, but was already looking forward to come back, especially after a tensed Xmas.
To afford life (or try to) for the last year and a half, I’ve been using platforms like Wwoofing or Workaways: I go somewhere (generally a farm) where I’m giving around 20+h/week of my time in exchange of food, shelter and learning experiences. It’s a system that can be wonderful, when it goes with genuine exchange and an attempt at stepping outside of the capitalist blueprints to find other ways to interact.
Sadly, the farm I was meant to spend the Winter at in North Wales didn’t feel right and I could not get a chance to recharge there. An exemple to illustrate it fairly well: shelter was nothing like what had been discussed, and I was given at the last minute access to a yurt. I would have loved it, if it wasn’t for it to leak increasingly, making the stove unusable and for then to collapse three days in under the storm with my hosts being away that weekend and not responding. I’m mentioning this as it shows quite well the precarity of my situation then; those exchanges rely on trust and transparency, sadly what is perfect on paper can turn out to be very different in real life and some hosts seem to use those platforms to access free labour, which you can only find out once on site. Also having a plan B is not necessarily possible, especially in Winter when options are slim. Meaning I had to stay there for 1,5 months until I could move on to the next place.
Other Volunteers being literal sunshine!
Thaaaankfully - my day to day life there was fully brighten up by the other volunteers on site. Ra and Mikaere from New Zealand accepted to share their trailer with me after the yurt disaster, which led to great conversations, boogies and laughs, charity shop puzzle and Ra even taught me how to crochet. So so grateful for those two.
I struggled to paint much there (lack of time, lack of space, and impossibility to feel relaxed enough) but did enjoy filling my two new sketchbooks, one A4 and one A3. Since the pandemic I had lost the habit of using sketchbooks, in part because I ended up painting outside of them more and pencils were put to the side for a bit. But I’m sooo glad to be back with them, I feel now able to sketch with paint, let it be gouache or oils, with the same spontaneity and playfulness I had when using pencils.
Life drawing
I also met wonderful people in the neighbourhood, especially through a life drawing group that would meet every Wednesday afternoon for three hours of focus drawing & lovely chats, tea and homemade cake. I’m really touched by those human activities that effortlessly bring us together; it didn’t matter that I was not from the area or feeling shy; coming to draw alongside peers felt like such an immediate way to connect. I managed to make it to three sessions to paint; and modelled for two. If you ever pass close to Bangor, North Wales, don’t hesitate to join the sessions - and it’s only £8 for 3h!
Wetland, oil on linen A5 £250
Landscapes
What also compensated for this challenging time were the incredible landscapes all around us, some of which I’ve not dared painting yet - because nature always seems to do it just right!
But we’ll see, hopefully I’ll return to North Wales, Anglesey, Eryri national park (Snowdonia) eventually to do the hikes and paintings I didn’t manage to do this time around.
Conwy, oil on linen A5 format, £300
My hands, painting memories
II was born with a difference, affecting my fingers and toes, which led me to go under ten surgeries between the age of 5 months old and my 17th birthday. Being born different is, in itself, something I’m very happy with (I never needed to think hard to feel that everyone is unique and beautiful in their own right) but I also have had to deal with a lot of traumatic experiences around that and I’m still unpacking my pain. Part of it were the surgeries, from which I still carry memories so vivid I get reminiscences of the whole package: sensations, images, smells, sounds and above all the feelings of terror and loneliness. That loneliness is both contained in those moments (being so young without anyone to care for my emotional distress, rooms filled with adults I didn’t know (doctors, nurses), busy doing things to my body as if I wasn’t attached to it) but there’s also an acute form of loneliness coming after the surgery, with the fact I never got a chance to talk about those moments, to get them out of my own self and share them with a loving person or a mental health professional. There’s also no pictures, no objects to attach those memories too, so they’ve just been flashing inside me, painfully stuck.
These paintings are an attempt at grasping those memories, and I’m so impressed by how much it’s helped me already. Thinking about painting them felt emotionally impossible for a long time; getting around to actually paint them in February turned out to be quite playful (I love painting!). Showing them to my brother was highly emotional but also so connecting; sharing online then felt very scary but also very important, however I was sobbing as I posted them. But then your reactions felt incredibly supportive and now I’m sharing them here again and even if my belly and chest are contracted, the emotion is much more manageable that the first time sharing.
I wrote the following a few weeks ago, and I’m glad to see it seems to work: “I want to try what I can (painting) to do something about that pain stuck in me. There won’t ever be a way to satisfyingly share what’s inside of me with anyone, neither the memories or their present impact; but my luck is that I can paint, hoping that each time I get them out of me and into the world there’s a bit less for me to carry”. And it’s only the beginning of that exploration.
Change of location: West Wales
At the end of February I was finally able to move on and try new opportunities, this time in West Wales. As I drove South I found a lot of joy in recognising roads I had driven through when I first fell in love with the country back in October. With being on the move so often, anything that is ever so slightly familiar feels very precious.
I spent a week volunteering in a beautiful self-sustainable eco-community composed of a bunch of very lovely, inspiring and generous people. I had been longing for places like this and it feels very special to finally find them, making my heart hopeful.
The importance of a studio space
If I had decided to head that direction in the first place is thanks to having found an art studio opportunity down there, by Cardigan. After the challenges of the previous months and seeing how it impacted my painting practice I felt very strongly that such a space was what I needed. It’s in a beautiful barn that has been converted to accommodate four artists, and i’m very glad to be one of them now.
I’m fine compromising on my own personal comfort as I have to at the moment, but my paintings, especially the ones yet to be born, feel too important for me to neglect them - the studio space I have is fairly small but at least I can have my paintings on display, work on several at once, and let my practice be as unobstructed of space constraints as possible (when I paint in the van, I have to let them dry on my bed, swap them around at night so I can sleep - it’s doable but understandably not the best!).
Now I’m so excited to be able to take the small-scale paintings and sketches from the past few weeks into bigger and further developed paintings - watch this space!
Settling in
West Wales (on that border between Pembrokeshire and Ceredigion) is where I’m settling in for now as I’ve craved a bit of stability, in the hope that my painting practice can flourish and that I too, can feel as grounded as possible.
I’ve been so touched by how welcoming people have been here, there’s a quality of connection, to one another and to the land, that feels very special here.
So hopefully that’s me for the upcoming months: painting as often as possible in this new studio, developing new bodies of work, living in a community with the van in exchange of some work with the land, and hopefully finding ways to make it work financially, as it’s been a real struggle lately.
