Art with happiness…

Some people talk about the adversity of artists. The truth is sometimes art comes from adversity and sometimes without those pressures or prerequisites you are left quite literally without any subject to paint. My life story has been one of adversity and then as I made plans to be educated and leave that behind the characteristics of maybe me and that past life echoed on. I have made mistakes as an adult but it has resulted in four beautiful children the most four beautiful children ever known. These children have experience life and courage and adversity but stand strong and are true bloody Scottish resilient people I am in awe of who they have become and how they strive with hurdles to be better people in this world and hopefully to be kind. I also have the beautiful privilege of my partner David’s family being the same with family values about truth, transparency and family connection. My art as a result is dry I have no pain to report on. I am happy I am experiencing happiness. The end .

A Forgotten Tale……

I sat looking at the light

The bird singing

The paintings in the room

Wide mouths that I painted

Strange men in bow ties

The past haunts

The Wine drank

The bottle empty

And then there is you

Train gone

A whisper of a love story

A forgotten tale

A last gasp of life

Of emptiness

The Prince

The Lost Prince…..




A human being is a part of the whole called by us universe, a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feeling as something separated from the rest, a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty. Albert Einstein

Will You Marry Me

Never knew feelings

Knew the meaning of Us

Tied up and dark

Never knew the meaning of light

But now you…

take that all away…. mmmm


Love has washed it all away

And brightened me heart again

Love has washed it all away

And Brightened my heart again

The love you taught me wasn’t one I had before

A kindness. A touch a softness in display

And you took it all away ..

Sometimes I feel that I will be washed away

Or a great hand will reach for you again

A mother of a child one hand that cant deny but now you are here

brighten my heart again

Now you are hear brighten my heart again

Old whispers of a land we once knew

Fingers touching it is all anew

Can we survive if we just clasp a hand

can we survive if we hold each other….

can we survive if truth takes a hold

can we survive and let lose of the gold

And we stand one anew bearing nothing but our truth

Yes we stand once a knew bearing nothing

bearing nothing

but us two


and just us two….

To David my usE3FD382D-C584-49F4-9864-332835639CAF







Tortured Love..

How do you conquer love when tortured inside?

The grey matter that courses through

The black Tar throbbing in ones veins

The blackness

And then another kind soul

A true love

A kind love

Falls for the victim

Falls for the broken bird

Fallen from the sky

How does one allow love to flourish when pain



Hatred feeds the heart

Perhaps there can be no such love

Perhaps once broken, the darkness engulfs never to be seen again

Loved again


Death is the only path…


Wild Beasts

I started to realise that I could only function as a human being for maybe half of a year, three quarters at a push. After that I am taken to the world of the dead. Like those zombie movies but everyone kinda just still sees me in this body with my smile, my kindness, my weak heart…

I need to paint. I need to let the brush take me away on my journey. Some other place, a quiet place my own private underworld where my wild beasts are..

Some women get erased a little at a time, some all at once. Some reappear. Every woman who appears wrestles with the forces that would have her disappear. She struggles with the forces that would tell her story for her, or write her out of the story, the genealogy, the rights of man, the rule of law. The ability to tell your own story, in words or images, is already a victory, already a revolt. Rebecca Solnit,