Weirding the Mundane

Let’s Talk About the Weird Stuff (and Why I Paint It)

I paint pretty much anything that grabs me, but most of my work tends to fall into two broad camps: imagination and observation. Sometimes it’s a strange hybrid of the two—maybe that’s why you’re here.

If you’re into the weird, the wistful, whimsical or the waterlogged, submerged becoming the mermaid meant to be, I thought I’d take a moment to share some of what’s going on beneath the surface.

Water, Space, and That Feeling of Not Belonging

A lot of my work includes water. It’s the aesthetic. It’s beautiful. But water also holds something deeper for me—a metaphor for rebirth, the womb, change, turbulence, and tranquility. It can cradle or crush. It exists here on Earth, but it isn’t where we live. We don’t thrive in it.We would drown.

That idea resonates with me. It mirrors how I sometimes feel navigating life—as if everyone else got the rulebook and I’m just floating along, improvising. Art gives it meaning of course, and where I feel most at home.

I often include water and space together in my paintings. I love the duality—worlds that are around us, yet out of reach. The other day, I overheard a little kid point at one of my paintings and shout, “It’s space!” And their mum replied, “It can’t be, there are fish.” I loved that moment—the child’s imagination clashing with adult logic. I think I’ve kept that inner child alive in me, even if I don’t always know how to talk about it at a market stall and wonder if that was my moment to join the conversation or not.

Ships, Storms, and Faces in the Middle

Sometimes I paint surreal scenes—disembodied faces, mermaids, a ship lost at sea. Sometimes I strip it back to just the landscape. My mind bounces from images of isolation and longing to sci-fi references like Holly from Red Dwarf or that weird floating head from Power Rangers.

I know I’m not reinventing the wheel here, but for me, the face in the center of a painting says: this is a mindscape. A storm in the mind’s eye. The vast skies I tend to avoid—too demanding, too grand. I love portraits and I enjoy stormy landscapes, I just don’t often paint them separately. That’s where the story begins.

I haven’t painted the ship I’m imagining yet, but maybe you can picture it with me, here are a couple of photos, the painted background and my edited reference jumping off point.

the background on the easel where can see a world emerging already, see below for the reference - a mix of a.i and affinity photo edit

A.i and pixels photos collaged, and then I overlay it within affinity photo, over the background I have already begun to include my brush strokes and come up with something more interesting

What I Want to Say (Even When I’m Not Sure How to Say It)

Honestly, I don’t always know why these images come to me. I have to pause and sift through the chaos. Sometimes it’s just my brain trying to make sense of feelings I haven’t quite figured out yet. I often feel like the channel with ideas beaming in (more on that in another blog)

I read something recently that struck a chord. Cory Huff, in How to Sell Your Art Online, wrote:

"My opinion is that 90% of artists who don’t know what to say are stifling what they truly want to say. This serves no-one."

That hit me. I think part of the reason I started writing these blog-style entries is to try and say the things I don’t always get to share face to face. I’ll admit—I often lean on ChatGPT to help shape my thoughts (hi, that’s me, a dyslexic who has been paid to blog but takes a long while to write one, with everything else this is faster), and sometimes I wonder if that takes the love out of writing. But maybe it just helps me get to the point and make my thoughts readable.

There was a time I wrote for the joy of it. Maybe you can relate? Now, I’m learning to find that joy again—slowly, awkwardly, but honestly, amongst the many other creative endeavours.

Intensity, Emotion, and Divine Rebellion

My art either says something—or celebrates something. Sometimes both. I think joy is easy to share, but the deeper, heavier emotions? Those are harder. I’ve created a series that leans into that intensity, rather than running from it.

maze head
The right side of chaos
abstract face
Life is simply a masquerade while we empty our mind in order to play   (for neurodiverse hyper focus 25 auction and exhibition )
We all wear masks metaphorically speaking
the world is ending so I made myself this fish hat
we were told to mask
I own my own intensity
I own my intensity.
Divine rebellion.
this new shipwreck portrait idea for a painting
And whatever comes next.

Because being human is messy, layered, complex and full of contradictions. I like to throw it all into my work—storms, fire, water, longing. Longing to belong. Longing for love. For peace. For more.

There is then also a celebration of life with the other side of my art, as seen through my lens—the classic tradition of painting from observation, whether from photos or on location. While the subjects themselves may not be original, what makes the work unique is that it’s been filtered through me. I do however love to dive fully into this strange kind of alchemy, combining several ordinary elements I love—each simple on its own, but together, powerful.

I don’t have all the answers (or even all the questions). But maybe you’ll find something in my paintings that helps you explore your own inner world too.

I’d love to hear what you see in the work. Or what stirs something in you. Leave a comment, send a message—join the conversation. I’m glad you're here.