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Emotional Weight Training: Finding Strength in This Season

November 19th, 2025 by

This specific season of life – motherhood – has thrown me in every direction as a new mum, as a woman, and also as an artist. I’ve spent so much of the past year just trying to keep my head above the water and desperately trying to claw “the old me” back amongst the chaos. And this recent obsession with writing has been a way for me to make sense of everything I’ve carried.. and everything that’s changing. As a bonus, it’s also a way to give you more context behind The Motherhood Collection.

Re-reading Your Submissions

Before starting this body of work, I reached out to my audience, friends, collectors.. anyone who felt compelled to share.. and asked for their words on motherhood. Stories, poems, random words, confessions.. absolutely anything. I often invite others into my creative practice, and some past collections have grown from the stories and images people have sent me (81 Wild, Four Year Wild Fire and Snapshots). The Motherhood Collection continues that tradition.. these 50 artworks come from all of us, not just me.

Re-reading your submissions over the past few days has made everything feel very real. There’s something grounding about seeing your own experiences reflected back through other people.. the highs, the lows, the uncertainty, the love, the exhaustion, the grief.. It’s reminding me that none of us are doing this alone, even when it feels that way. And it’s also reminding me how grateful I am for this community and the honesty you’ve shared with me over the years. Thank you.

“There’s spit-up on the sleeve again, a smear of mashed banana on my thigh. I used to be someone. Or maybe I was just more awake.”

“No one told me I’d miss my old name – that I’d grieve the girl who moved through the world untouched, without someone always needing her.”

“Motherhood is a paradox: crushing and expanding all at once. You’re lonely and yet you aren’t alone. It’s anxiety and awe, rage and love, all tangled together.”

“I grew teeth. I named things. I left the table where I was only fed crumbs. Now my child knows love is warm, love is loud, and never makes them feel small.”

“Sometimes I miss myself so hard it feels like cheating on you.”

Creating In This Season

Early motherhood takes up a ridiculous amount of space in your mind and body. Time feels different now.. energy, motivation and drive too. Some days I have absolutely nothing to give, and other days I surprise myself. Creating within all of this has been messy and slow, not because I don’t want to make the work, but because everything feels gross and unfamiliar.

Painting in my motherhood-era is not glamorous. It’s tiring, chaotic, rushed and often feels chore-like. I scrape together tiny snippets of time during Lilah’s naps.. usually surrounded by piles of clothes, crumbs from yet another rice cake covered in almond butter, and about 29 teaspoons used once to scoop out teabags from the endless cups of tea I never finish. It’s not inspiring in the slightest, but I keep coming back because I need it. Painting has been part of my identity since I was very small (apparently), and the thought of losing it is unacceptable. Giving up just isn’t an option.

There’s also the financial reality. Art isn’t a hobby for me.. it’s my job, my stability, my business that I hold close to my chest.. the thing that keeps everything moving. But underneath all of that is a gut feeling.. a pull to stay connected to myself through the work, even when everything around me feels blerghhh.

Creating like this.. imperfect, interrupted, chaotic.. is showing me that my work can change and still be mine. That I can evolve with it.. and that even in this ridiculous, upside-down season, I am still an artist.. a stubborn, committed one.. growing through all of it rather than running from it.

Ooh, I’m already waffling.

What Breaks You Makes You

Ok, this sounds random.. but I’ll link it all up, promise.

I’ve been thinking about strength training a lot recently, mainly because I miss it so damn badly. Lifting weights has been part of my life for nearly fifteen years. Not professionally, just consistently.. with a lot of love and discipline. It was my routine, my release, my way of feeling strong and connected to my own body. The pulling, the pushing, the sensation of a muscle working hard.. the burn, the pump, the sweat, the focus, the tears.. that moment your muscles finally give in and the weight drops to the floor. It might sound dramatic or maybe boring to some, but it was marvellous. I feel far away from that version of myself because I haven’t touched a barbell properly in about a year (well, until last Monday).

I was talking to a close friend who lifts too, and she understood exactly what I meant.. that heaviness, that groundedness, that strange mix of pain and pleasure that somehow makes you feel more like yourself. And it made me realise how similar life is to strength training. Only now, the weights are emotional, not physical.

If I zoom out and look at the past few years.. Dad dying, the lockdowns, the self employment, the infertility, the IVF, motherhood.. it’s all felt very heavy. But here’s the thing.. emotional weight works a lot like physical weight. You don’t get stronger unless something tears a bit. In the gym, the muscle literally breaks so it can rebuild. In life, the same thing happens. These experiences tear you apart in ways you can’t ever imagine, and somehow that’s where the strength comes from.

It’s weird to admit, but these hardships have built me in ways the easy seasons never could. So maybe I should feel a bit exhilarated by it all.. in a twisted, strength-training kind of way.

Just something I’ve been thinking about.

That Gratitude

And somewhere in the middle of all this heaviness, a feeling that keeps cropping up.. gratitude. I know I’ve written about this before and I will until the cows come home. Serious gratitude.

I never imagined that art alone would sustain me for almost five years. I’m someone who had what I used to call a “normal job”.. a regular (almost) 9-5 in a marketing agency. It gave me some experience in SEO, but I genuinely didn’t think I’d ever reach a point where painting would be the only thing that supports me through everything.. infertility (jeeeez.. we had to spend so much money), grief, pregnancy, and this first year of motherhood. Somehow, through commissions, dribs and drabs of sales, and the people who believe in my work, I’ve managed to keep going. It still surprises me, every day. So, thank you.. you know who you are.

I’m grateful for the friendships that have arrived at this bizarre time – for the people who supported me through the hardest parts of my fertility journey.. for Jon, who’s endured over a decade of storms with me.. and for the Oxford Fertility Clinic for helping bring Lilah into our world. And the setbacks – oh my god, the setbacks. What blessings in disguise. They’ve shaped me in ways I’ll never be able to explain.

Where The New Work Belongs

When someone brings one of the new pieces from The Motherhood Collection into their home, I don’t want it to just sit there looking nice. I want it to actually mean something. I want them to see a bit of themselves in it.. the tired bits, the hopeful bits, the real life ugly bits we don’t always say out loud. Something they can look at on the good days and the days that feel completely impossible.

These pieces aren’t only for mothers. They’re for anyone who feels a connection for whatever reason comes up. Maybe it’s celebrating motherhood. Maybe it’s getting through something hard. Maybe it’s recognising a shift in themselves. Whatever the reason, I just want the paintings to end up with the people they genuinely make sense for.. their soul mate.

A Final Note

There are only 50 pieces in The Motherhood Collection, and each one carries its own little energy.. its own mood and story. I honestly believe every painting has a soul it’s meant for – someone it feels right with. You’ll know if it’s you.. not in a dramatic way, just a gut feeling.

If you’d like to be part of the private launch for this collection.. to see the pieces first, get the launch date, and have early access before they go public, make sure you’re signed up to my mailing list. My subscribers always get first dibs.

I’m excited (and terrified) to share the work with you – it feels very very uncomfortable. But hey, I’m just so grateful that you’re here, reading this, supporting me in the ways you do. It means a lot. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

The Mother I Am and the Artist I Am Becoming

November 8th, 2025 by

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been an artist who writes, doodles, sketches and paints in response to life – memories, travels, conversations, grief, emotional stuff, you know. My work has always been instinctive and personal, and that hasn’t changed as such.. but I have.

Since becoming a mother, something in me has shifted.. my brain, my artistic rhythm, and even the way my hands move across the paper – everything just feels slightly off. Brush and pencil marks come out differently now (many of them impulsive and a bit ugly) – almost as if they belong to somebody else. And as I continue the pieces in my next body of work, The Motherhood Collection, I’ve realised this change is becoming rather evident. It’s pretty unsettling.

There are emotions and experiences in this new chapter that I never thought I’d meet.. and they’ve forced their way into my art practice. The most surprising one that has surfaced the most is rage.

The Unbelievable Rage

Motherhood hasn’t just changed my routine.. it’s changed the temperature of my emotions (that’s the only way I can describe it). Everything feels amplified – noise, love, tiredness, anger.. I seriously didn’t expect to feel this kind of rage, especially as a new mother.. something I’d wanted for so long. And it’s not just your typical irritation or frustration.. it’s real, physical rage. The kind that surfaces at 2am when the baby wakes for the 437th time, chest pounding, forehead sweating and veins about to burst. I feel that no one really talks about it because it’s too brutal, too shameful, and the antithesis of that ‘glowing mummy’ narrative.

I swear this kind of rage has done something to me. Sometimes it feels like what I imagine a lobotomy would feel like.. a kind of numb rewiring. But in other moments, it’s like a new part of my soul has awakened. When Lilah fusses again and again and again, that rage can take over.. I want to scream into pillows, throw things, escape (tried this; failed). Then morning comes – calm, light, coffee, her dimples.. like it never even happened. Guilt will then totally envelope me. How can such fierce emotions arise over something so small and unbelievably cute?

Before I had Lilah, I genuinely thought motherhood would be the making of me. Instead, it’s felt more like an unmaking.. shining a harsh light on the person underneath – the bits of me I’ve clearly been hiding (or avoiding) this whole time. Layers of exhaustion, grief, people pleasing, deranged emotions, of giving and giving until I was empty. I’ve realised the rage doesn’t come from a lack of love – if anything, it’s from having too much of it. There’s so much love and so much responsibility.. plus the noise, the fear, the intrusive thoughts – all aimed at one tiny person, and it’s a lot for a sleep-deprived person to hold. Maybe that’s why it sometimes overflows. Who knows?

The Work That Doesn’t Feel Like Mine

When that noise dies down and I find moments to paint, it feels so foreign. The rhythm, the energy.. even when I get into that “flow state”, it’s not as flowy. It’s awkward, hesitant and forced. My marks and colours don’t feel like mine and overall, the work looks unfamiliar. Who is this artist?

Sometimes, I look at the paintings and think they’re ugly. Other times, I think they’re just honest. And today, when I stepped back to look at all of them together – they just felt wrong and unrecognisable. The marks, the layers and the way the colours were merging.. they made me uncomfortable. But maybe that’s the point. Maybe this is what the collection is meant to be – uncomfortable. Because motherhood is uncomfortable. Maybe the challenge is to leave them this way, to stop trying to “fix” or perfect them, and just let them be.

It’s the same surrender I had to learn during IVF. The same surrender I keep learning every day with a baby as my CEO. I’ve got to accept the mess and trust the process. Let go..

When I looked at them all together on the kitchen table, it was like I was reading a different language. I could feel my usual imposter syndrome lurking.. that negative voice whispering that I don’t belong here anymore. Hmm.. but maybe this discomfort means that I’m moving somewhere new. Perhaps this is what becoming looks like. Again, who knows??

She’s My Mirror

I see myself in Lilah when she looks up at me with that loving baby look.. also when she stares at the trees on our walks, and when she’s completely transfixed on a new toy, concentrating like her life absolutely depends on it. That’s when I see our resemblance – the bum chin, the straight eyebrows, the stubbornness.. It’s surreal, and actually rather confronting seeing myself reflected back at me like that.

It’s almost like she’s holding up a mirror and saying, “Mum, take a flipping breath”.. and a reminder to be patient, to stay calm and to not expect perfection – from either of us. Is it a sign to care for her how I would like to be cared for? Love her how I would want to be loved.

I can tell that this realisation is being filtered into my paintings. I’m trying hard to approach my work with a bit more patience.. and to let the mess stay messy, if you know what I mean. Maybe The Motherhood Collection is also about that – learning to mother myself just as much as I mother her. Who knows (again)? Perhaps I’m getting a bit deep, but hey ho.

What’s Coming Next

Unfortunately, the kitchen table is still my studio at the moment (our outdoor studio build is yet again on hold because, well.. baby). It’s covered in half-finished mugs of coffee, screwed-up kitchen roll, biscuit crumbs, paint splats and muslin cloths – so bouj.

As you know, The Motherhood Collection is still under the spotlight and it’s almost there now.. just a few final touches between naps and playdates. I’m seriously hoping to share it before Christmas. Pray for me, guys.

The 50 pieces feel very honest – and a little rough around the edges. The collection will certainly embody everything this season has been. Rage, patience, exhaustion, love, desperation, monotony.. it’s all in there with nowhere to hide.

2026 and Beyond: The Atelier Works

I’m jumping the gun here, but I also want to tell you about a new concept I’m considering for work in 2026: my “Atelier” pieces. The word “atelier” simply means artist’s studio – the place where the bigger and braver pieces are made. These works won’t belong to any collection. They’ll stand alone and be “enquire only” – no sales directly through my website. This encourages a dialogue between myself and the potential collector, so we can talk about the work in more depth. These pieces will feel different.

I’m imagining larger, more deliberate paintings that expose this new me, whoever she is – an artist that’s emerging from everything that’s happened over the past few years. They’ll be heavier, more layered, and probably a bit riskier too. A new chapter, I suppose. Like some sort of creative becoming.

The first works won’t appear until at least spring 2026, but they’re lingering in the background (of my mind), slowly conceptualising as I find my rhythm again.

If you’ve been following along, thank you for sticking with me through all this chaos. If you’d like to join the private launch of The Motherhood Collection, make sure you’re signed up to my mailing list.. and keep an eye out for the Atelier works next year.

Hand-Painted Guitar Collaboration: Munson Guitars x Emma Howell

September 20th, 2025 by

Every so often, I get the privilege of collaborating with brands, artists, designers, and makers whose vision resonates with my own. For my Soul exhibition at Sixteen Gallery last summer, I had the honour of working with British custom guitar makers, Munson Guitars, on a project that brought two unique instruments to life: Hope and Eden. Each guitar was hand-built by leading luthier Carl Munson, hand-painted by me, and then returned to the Munson HQ to be set up to their world-class standard. These instruments weren’t just made to be played, but to be lived with and appreciated as artworks in their own right.. a true blend of craftsmanship, abstract expression, sound, and storytelling

Munson Guitars are known for their bespoke, handcrafted guitars, each built with meticulous attention to detail and deep respect for both woodcraft and music. Our collaboration grew from a shared belief in legacy – with my roots in music through my dad, and Carl’s in craftsmanship through his father’s love of woodwork. This project became a way of weaving family heritage into instruments that carry both story and sound.

The Guitars

Eden: A Figment Of Your Meditation (available)

The Soul collection includes a series of 6 meditation paintings (now all sold) and Eden the guitar follows the same sentiment, theme and style. Each painted shape informs the next, over time building a floral composition of refreshing paradise and bold expression. Building up these vivid compositions is a meditative process, taking hours of careful hand-eye coordination and slow breathing. All pieces in this style give a nod to triumph over adversity. To enquire about purchasing this piece, please send me a message.

Hope: A Two Soul Harmony (sold)

Hope is a collision of two creative individuals, totally obsessed with their craft. In regards to the art, the application involved was totally raw, honest and spontaneous marks from life. The guitar body, along with its sibling canvas, “A Bad Day for the Ego is a Great Day for the Soul” (sold), sat together in my living room for weeks.. everyday (or so), I’d grab a stick of charcoal, a dollop of paint or an old pencil and released feeling, tension or zest. The two pieces are quite literally translations of humanness onto a surface. They expose hardship and chaos, but at the same time harmony, balance and comfort.

The Exhibition

At the show, the guitars were proudly displayed on Munson HANGARS alongside my other works on canvas and paper. The instruments became a kind of bridge between disciplines.. abstract expressionism meets the tactile, sonic world of music. Gallery visitors were able to experience them not only as visual objects, but as vessels of sound, meditation and collaboration. We were even lucky enough to have the photographer from the Telegraph in the space to photograph myself and the guitars. They brought in many people – that’s for sure.

The Tribute

For me, this project was more than just a crossover of mediums. Music has always been a part of my life. My Dad was a bass player in many local bands – he lived and breathed music, running his own shop for three decades before his sudden passing in 2016. Since then, every painting and exhibition I’ve created has been dedicated to him, carrying his spirit forward.

This collaboration with Munson Guitars felt like a natural extension of that tribute.. a meeting point between two crafts, two legacies and two ways of telling stories. Eden and Hope are more than objects/instruments – they’re living artworks, embodying real memories, heritage, and nostalgia. They’re completely unique pieces – hand-built instruments fused with original artwork – bringing together the worlds of music and painting in one form.

The Gratitude

The guitars now exist as rare, one-of-a-kind artworks – a testament to what happens when two practices collide. I’m incredibly grateful to Munson Guitars for trusting me with their craftsmanship and for letting my work spill into a new medium.

This collaboration has reminded me that art, in all its forms, thrives on openness – on stepping into new terrain and letting creativity find unexpected places to live. If you want your own hand-painted, bespoke guitar, please get in touch.

Artwork Selected for Sixteen Gallery Open Call 2025

September 1st, 2025 by

I’m super excited to share that my painting “Rousseau’s Tale: Talking About You” has been selected from over 700 submissions to be part of The Open Call Exhibition 2025 at Sixteen Gallery. To have this piece chosen by such a respected panel of judges is an incredible honour, and I feel very grateful for the opportunity to show it alongside so many talented artists.

A Personal Connection

I have a strong connection with this painting. It was first exhibited in my 2024 solo show Soul and belongs to a small series of chair paintings made during a time of deep reflection and uncomfortable uncertainty. The chair became a quiet symbol in some of my work – it was an object that held space for solitude, imagination, loss and hope.

Revisiting Rousseau

“Rousseau’s Tale: Talking About You” includes a small homage to Rousseau’s Tiger in a Tropical Storm, added to complement the chair and balance the composition. While it began as an aesthetic choice, this old master work carries a fond memory for me. I first copied Tiger in a Tropical Storm in an art class when I was about seven years old, and even now a print of it hangs in our bathroom – a small, everyday reminder woven into my life. Revisiting it as an adult gave it new layers of meaning, especially during a time of waiting, uncertainty, and longing, when the tiger and the storm seemed to mirror my own emotions. Not long before I began this piece, my husband and I had seen the original in person, standing together in awe and nostalgia. Including it in the work felt like a natural decision.. and a way to connect memory, emotion, and imagination through the presence of the eerie chair.

A Palette of Nature, Home, and Healing

The colour palette for this painting was chosen with intention.. weaving together tones from Rousseau’s piece and the natural world. Warm olive greens, powder pinks, mahogany browns, soft yellows, and rusty oranges create a grounded, organic harmony – tones that speak of Mother Nature’s cycles and a quiet, nurturing energy often associated with the feminine. At the same time, these colours nod to the textures and warmth of interior spaces, evoking the kind of room where comfort and honesty are encouraged. The chair itself carries that same energy, deliberately reminiscent of one you might find in a therapist’s office – hinting at my own fair share of sitting in such a chair (hence “talking about you”). In this way, the painting holds together nature, home, and healing, allowing the viewer to step into a space that is both deeply personal and universally relatable.

The Rhythm of Monotony

The detailed parquet flooring dominates much of the composition; its repetitive patterning is there to reflect the slow, cyclical passage of days. Painting it became a meditative, almost hypnotic exercise, echoing the monotony and quiet endurance of waiting during infertility. Each carefully painted floor tile was a way to sit with time and build up my patience.. a trait that I had lost long ago.

Sister Works in the Series

This recognition makes the piece feel all the more special, and it’s wonderful to know it will be seen by new eyes at Sixteen Gallery. There are also three sister works from the same series (two still available): “Aegean Pause: Waiting For You”, “The Old Chair: Remembering You” (sold) and “Flowers From Matisse: Hoping It’s You” – each carrying its own story but connected by the same thread of hope, desperation and endurance.

Grateful & Excited

I’m honoured that “Rousseau’s Tale: Talking About You” will be part of this carefully curated exhibition. It feels particularly special because the painting emerged from a vulnerable and difficult period in my life, and now it will be seen by a wider audience. I hope you will connect with the work’s stillness, and see the patience and vulnerability woven through it. Exhibiting alongside such talented artists is a privilege, and I’m grateful for the opportunity to have this work seen and appreciated in a broader context.

I highly recommend you go see the show at Sixteen Gallery in Cheltenham – on until September 10th 2025. Oh, and my piece is for sale, by the way.

This is Motherhood, Abstracted: Told in Brushstrokes

August 3rd, 2025 by

Painting Motherhood

Whilst Lilah sleeps upstairs (on her front, with her butt in the air), I’m carving out a moment to write a post about The Motherhood Collection – more specifically, the aesthetic and emotional foundation of it.

Motherhood isn’t a story that fits neatly into words. It arrives in waves – quiet, chaotic, humbling, and often lonely.. a rhythm that changes by the minute I swear. Usually, in moments of loss, grief or uncertainty, I’d turn to painting and fully immerse myself into a flow state, but during this time.. it’s been rather tricky. The fogginess, the noise and the pace of early motherhood have made it difficult to find space to create. And yet, there is a small fire burning within.. not because it comes easily, but because it’s how I’ve always made sense of what I’m feeling.

The Motherhood Collection is growing slowly – like most things in life. It’s shaped by the blur of Groundhog Days and the mess that never really clears. The overwhelming nighttime rage after yet another abrupt wake-up, crinkly books and rattles scattered across the floor, sobbing in the bath wondering if the infertility was a sign I wasn’t cut out for this – it’s a lot. The TV rolls into another episode, the dog sulks like Eeyore in the corner, and I’m trying to hold onto the last scraps of my old self whilst I morph into this other woman I do not know.

These paintings don’t try to explain all of that – they simply sit with it. Not just from my experience, but also by the stories shared with me through your submissions, too.

How Motherhood Looks in Colour

You may know that I explore still life, landscape, and abstract expressionism within my practice… depending on the season I’m in and how my mind and hands decide to work. This body of work leans into abstraction, led mostly by intuition. Each painting begins with a feeling: a tight chest, a rare moment of peace, a late-night wailing session, or a deep breath of hope..

As I read the submissions and revisit my own early days of motherhood, colours start to surface.. a soft, radiant yellow resonates from hope – delicate but persistent; a pale, flushed pink echoes kisses on her silky skin; a sharp blood-orange rushes in when rage takes over after another sleepless night; and a thick, heavy grey hums with the repetition and fog of it all. These shades aren’t just visual, they carry significant emotional weight for me.

Alongside the everyday chaos and the inspiring stories you’ve shared through submissions, the collection’s palette is coming to life with help from Mother Nature herself. Colours appear during slow pram walks to get Lilah to sleep – in the shifting light across rickety pavement, the soft moss creeping up garden walls, the faded pastels of late-summer hydrangeas (although, mine have died..), and the dry ochre tones of sun-scorched grass (it’s been pretty hot, hasn’t it?!). These moments outdoors not only help me catch my breath, but they are also helping me birth The Motherhood Collection. The colours I gather are finding their way back into the studio and onto paper.

Rhythm, Repetition, and Rest

You might notice repetitive lines and/or marks on some of the works. For me, they mirror the broken record feelings of motherhood.. the comforting monotony and, at times, the deep emotional stretch of doing the same thing again and again.. and again. Large washes or blocks of colour and quiet areas of negative space offer the eye a pause.. a moment to slow down, catch your breath, and gather yourself before moving on. Or perhaps, they hint at vacancy, loneliness, and the dull ache of loss.

This isn’t about painting a literal experience. It’s about revealing what lies beneath.. the layered feelings, the quiet strength and the raw edges of motherhood.

The Raw and the Real

Motherhood isn’t tidy or linear. Neither is this body of work. There’s this raw beauty in the messiness… in its intuition and the way it remains unfinished in places. These paintings hold the love, the loss, the shifting identity, the everyday moments, and the magic all at once.

If any of this resonates with you, I invite you to explore the collection (once it’s ready). Maybe a piece will reach you where words fall short. Maybe it’s simply a quiet reminder that you’re not alone.

I hope this has given you a sense of what the collection is becoming – slowly, honestly, and in the thick of real life. Now, I better get back to little lady Lilah.

Enquire about collection >

The How Series: 25 New Works to Complete the Collection 6 Years Later

August 30th, 2024 by

Since its inception in 2018, “The How Series” has been a deeply personal exploration of how I experience and interpret the world. Across 75 pieces, I’ve shared my journey of tuning into the sights, sounds, and sensations that shape my perception of life (initially catalysed by trying to navigate life after losing my Dad). These artworks have become a way for me to translate fleeting moments and complex emotions into something tangible, a reflection of how I see, hear, feel, and understand the world.

The Final Chapter: Completing the Collection

Today, I am thrilled to announce the expansion of The How Series with 25 new and final pieces, completing the collection at 100 works. This extension of the series is not just a continuation but a crescendo – these pieces will be carefully refined, enriched with fresh insights from recent inspirations, and are highly anticipated by past collectors, bringing to a close a journey that has evolved over six years.

A Dictionary of Marks: The Impact and Evolution of The How Series

The How Series began with a rather significant debut: the first 10 made their appearance at my first ever solo exhibition (see photos above). Their reception was beyond my expectations, with all pieces finding homes remarkably quickly.

The series as a whole has become an indispensable part of my practice, functioning as a visual dictionary of mark-making. It has not only influenced my ever-evolving style but also conceptualised new pieces, by dissecting an array of emotions and observations then translating them into a unique language of abstraction. This collection stands as a cornerstone of my art, representing a crucial phase in my creative development and influencing how I approach and interpret my work.

Throughout the collection’s evolution, various life events have influenced additional pieces, including a colourful trip to Ibiza (see photos above). Each new addition has expanded the series, reflecting the diverse experiences that have shaped my artistic journey thus far.

At its heart, The How Series has been instrumental in defining my artistic vocabulary, enriching my practice, and connecting with collectors and viewers around the world. Its impact extends far beyond the individual artworks, contributing significantly to the broader narrative of my artistic evolution.

Inspiration from Greece: A New Muse

The inspiration for these fresh works will be drawn from a variety of rich sources. My upcoming trip to Greece (September 3rd-13th) will be a primary muse, with its vibrant landscapes, textures, and colours influencing the direction of this final chapter. I’ll immerse myself in the sun-drenched hillsides, ancient ruins, and shimmering coastlines, documenting the experience in a journal that will later inform the textures, shapes, and emotions in the artwork.

Revisiting My Journals: A Reflection on the Past

But Greece is just one part of the story. I’ll also be revisiting my journals, art collections, photographs and diary entries from the past few years. My journal entries typically capture a wide range of experiences, from quiet, introspective moments to more dynamic and emotionally charged events. They’ve been the foundation for much of my previous work, and now they will contribute to these final, exclusive pieces.

The Final 25: Redefining The How Series and Concluding a Journey

As with all the works in The How Series, these new pieces won’t be literal representations of specific places or moments. Instead, they’ll be abstract interpretations – deconstructions of the sights, sounds, and feelings I’ve recorded over the years. These artworks will encapsulate how these experiences have shaped me and how I’ve come to see and understand the world.

This final set of 25 artworks will represent a 6-year time block that has been as much about personal growth as it has been about artistic expression and creative metamorphosis. As well as this, the work is sure to be influenced by our latest exciting news: we are expecting a baby girl next February following a challenging couple of years.

As the concluding chapter of a collection that has touched lives and captured imaginations across the world, these pieces are not just reflections of my life path but also contribute to a broader narrative that speaks to the universal human experience.

Gratitude and Anticipation

Thank you for following my journey and for your continued support. The final chapter of The How Series is about to be written, and I’m so excited to share these sentimental works with you. Here’s to the completion of a collection that has been years in the making – one that will live on with collectors all over the world, connecting us all through the shared language of art.

The Art of Losing: How Instagram’s Algorithm is Destroying Business For Artists

July 24th, 2024 by

I want to start this post with a heartfelt acknowledgment. I understand that my words might seem intense or critical, but it’s crucial for me to speak openly and truthfully. As an artist who has dedicated heart and soul to my work, witnessing my art business (and other artists) suffer due to corporate algorithms is deeply disheartening.

I’ve been working on an art-focused Instagram account for 7 years, with over 3000 posts showcasing my art and connecting with my audience (you’re really great – thank you). And over the last three years, my analytics have plummeted. The stress of having to constantly pivot, to veer off my authentic nature just to stay trendy and “with the times” for the sake of views, likes, and follows, is overwhelming. My reputation and engagement on Instagram profoundly affect the overall discoverability of my work and my sales. During this same period, Instagram users are being brainwashed by useless content, deliberately changing their buying habits and desires. This shift turns the majority of people off from buying from small, authentic businesses like mine and many other genuine creatives. I don’t want to sound bitter and resentful, but the universal use of this app has become totally deranged.

What’s happened to us? We’ve become addicts to mind-numbing, pointless, and brain-deadening videos. Morning and evening, humans now compulsively scroll through useless content that brings us nothing good or productive.. DM-ing our friends with ridiculous memes and videos of unrealistic expectations. It’s a vortex of distraction; a black hole where time and creativity go to die.

Instagram’s algorithm now prioritises ads, paid posts, and clickbait content designed to shock and stir. It’s a brainwashing machine that promotes sensationalism over substance. Small businesses and honest creatives who just want to share their craft and make a living are left in the dust. The algorithm favours video content, dumb trends, faces, nudity, youth, and younger accounts.. and if you’re not willing to dance for the camera or play the fool, your chances of being seen are slim to none.

What has this done to the art community? It’s pretty devastating. Honest creatives – you know, those of us with art and design running through our veins, who used to rely on organic engagement and genuine interest, are struggling to keep our heads above the water. Our work is buried under a flood of superficiality, our voices drowned out by the cacophony of clickbait and empty entertainment. The process, which once brought joy and fulfilment, now feels like a burdensome chore, making me feel like a slave to the algorithm.

Despite all this, giving up will never be an option for me. Art is more than just business. It’s always felt like a calling, my soul’s purpose, a tribute to my Dad, an extension of his legacy.. and I refuse to let it be drowned out by the noise of an algorithm. But I won’t deny that the enjoyment of the process has been severely diminished. What used to be a joyful expression of creativity has become a constant struggle to appease an ever-changing, unfeeling, dumb algorithm.

I miss the days when people used social media to connect meaningfully, to discover real art, to support small businesses, and to appreciate the depth and diversity of human creativity. But those days feel like a distant memory now. The platform that once promised connection and community has become a commercial battlefield where only the loudest, most sensational voices get heard.

Through all the turmoil, one thing keeps me going: the thousands of faithful collectors around the world who have supported (and continue to support) my journey. To each and every one of you, I am profoundly grateful. Your unwavering support and zest you feel towards my work mean more than words can express.

Algorithm bitching aside, I am always excited to welcome new collectors into this incredible community and look forward to collaborating with other businesses and galleries. The prospect of sharing my work with new audiences and forging new connections fills me with hope and excitement, even in the face of these challenges.

Putting my work out into the world is not just important; it’s essential. It often serves as a way for those who have experienced parent loss and grief to find connection and a reminder that everything will be okay. A lot of my work aims to give them a nudge to stay strong and resilient. Being able to translate the ups and downs of life onto a surface and inspire others around the world is why I do what I do. Admittedly, publicising my life and work is challenging, especially as a camera-shy individual and someone who rubs shoulders with imposter syndrome.. but despite these obstacles, being open and vulnerable with colour and mark-making remains to be a vital element, bringing light and hope into even the darkest times.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for listening. I know this post won’t change the algorithm or the behaviour of billions of users overnight. But maybe, just maybe, it will resonate with someone out there who feels the same way. Maybe it will spark a conversation about the direction we’re heading and what we’re losing along the way.

So here’s my plea: let’s support real art and champion authentic creativity. Behind every small business, there’s a person pouring their heart into their work, hoping to make a living doing what they love.. and this is what needs to be shared and celebrated.. not videos of people burping in supermarkets.

Going forward, the majority of my art practice updates are done via newsletter. So, please do sign up to my mailing list, if you aren’t already.

Thank you for reading. Over and out.

Instagram: @emhow1

Become a Collector: View Collections

Email: [email protected]

Press Release: Solo Show at Sixteen Gallery

August 3rd, 2022 by

Young Cotswold artist, Emma Howell is announcing her new solo exhibition, New Terrain, which will be shown from 16th – 29th September 2022 (update: the show will close on Sunday 2nd October) at Sixteen Gallery in Cheltenham. The exhibition is intended to celebrate the progression of her work since 2018, with previously unseen pieces and a showcase of her most recent work.

Dedicated to her late father, Mark Howell, Emma describes the exhibition as an “exploration of terrain as a concept relating to the individual.” She goes on to explain that “your terrain is not only where you live, the ground that you walk on and the environment that you immerse yourself in; it is also a word to collectively describe the biological components that make you a living, breathing and ever-evolving human.”

Emma uses her art to help to nurture her mind, body, and soul, which has been crucial since the loss of her father in 2016, and her New Terrain show reflects the process of self-care that she has learnt to develop over this time. She has focussed her paintings to help you to feel grounded and unplug you from our uneasy civilisation; they are here to open your mind, soothe your soul, and spark feelings of nostalgia.

“All my work is dedicated to my Dad” Emma reveals. “Experiencing his loss was the genesis of my entire art practice – and continues to inform my work as a constant influence, and as a lens through which I experience my surroundings. My work is a progressive appreciation of the world around me, and through colour and form, the intention is to celebrate life and experience – and offer viewers a form of escapism.”

The New Terrain exhibition will feature Munson Guitars, custom and bespoke guitar luthiers who will introduce their special edition guitar, Gaia: Against The Grain, hand-painted by Emma. They will also be hosting a seminar (get tickets here) and demonstrate their range of guitars in honour of her late bass player father. The exhibition will also showcase exciting new products from leading British pottery aficionados, Sculpd.

Working on paper and canvas, and with a range of media including paint, pencil, and pastels, Emma describes her work as the instinctive way she navigates life and nurtures her own sense of self. As time passes, the terrain that she navigates constantly evolves, as does the work that she produces in response. With artwork now proudly displayed across the world including in Europe, the US, Australia, and Seychelles, Emma is a British abstract artist based in the Cotswolds who lives with her husband, Jon, and dog, Gibson.

Emma Update: Love, Weekly Art Drops & September Exhibition

June 20th, 2022 by

I am excited to announce

that on Sunday 5th June, in the presence of all our nearest and dearest, Jon and I got married. We feel incredibly grateful to have been able to squeeze the day in amongst all the world chaos – and what an awesome day it turned out to be (apart from the rain – but that’s meant to be lucky, right?).

Matt Fox Photography
Matt Fox Photography
Matt Fox Photography

The morning after the wedding

we kissed Gibson goodbye and hastily piled into the Fiesta to go catch our plane to Kos, Greece.

The honeymoon turned us into expert tzatziki tasters and calamari connoisseurs; we cycled on city bikes to Tigaki and stopped to watch flamingos crossing the salt lake, then back through Kos Town for a Mythos beer at the marina; we hiked and scrambled up Mount Dikeos only to be enveloped by a cloud with no view (oh well); we walked with peacocks and gazed up at blue domed churches; we took a boat to the island of Nisyros where we climbed into a volcanic crater, roamed the colourful streets of Mandraki and ate fresh white fish that was cooked right in front of us (Khokhlakoi Taverna). Kos totally spoilt us and we managed to (mostly) complete the island in 10 days.

Despite now being known as Emma Munson,

Emma Howell the artist and business will remain the same. So, your collections of artwork will always be sound 👌🏻

Admittedly (and I think it’s been rather obvious), my practice has taken a back seat over the least few months. Planning the wedding, family gatherings/celebrations and various house projects have enveloped us since the beginning of 2022. And aside from the spontaneous (and quiet) launch of the TERRAIN collection in April and the list of commissions I’ve been tapping away at, my painting days have been few and far between. Although, I did manage a little bit of painting on the honeymoon.

Be that as it may, I am back and raring to go.

The way I work (in practice, in business and online) is changing up a bit. One thing that I can hold my hands up to is that since mid-2021, my practice has lacked some organisation. So, being the savvy businesswoman that I am (ha!), I have conceptualised a new way to work – a way that matches my typical creative rhythm and clearly choreographs the year. Please be aware that this new approach will start off as provisional, until I get into the swing of it. It’s never nice to commit to something and then not have it follow through or go as planned – it happens.

Let’s start with weekly art drops.

Each week, you’ll see me release a series of artworks (typically small pieces with a price range of £75-£200) and they will reflect whatever medium/style/topic/mentality that arises that week. Having small (and inexpensive) art drops like this will not only help tight budgets, but also act as a weekly meditative reflection, and encourage/challenge my practice to develop on a regular basis. At first, look out for these on my Instagram, as my website needs a rejig.

Plus quarterly launches and announcements.

This is when larger pieces and/or full artwork collectives (e.g. 81 Wild) will get their moments in the spotlight. Depending on the calendar and any potential opportunities that may arise (e.g. exhibition/collaboration), each quarter will have something exciting for you to look out for. Whether it be a solo/group show at a local gallery, a trio of extra large landscape paintings or a collaboration with a wine company (desperate to design a label – any connections out there?).. there will be some sort of announcement sent out. So, make sure you’re on my mailing list.

And here’s Q3’s announcement for you.

From September 15th – 29th 2022, you will find me at Sixteen Gallery in Cheltenham where I will not only be painting/working at the gallery, but also hosting a solo exhibition. The exhibition details (e.g. title and curation) are still being conceptualised, but all I can tell you at the moment is that you will be able to view and purchase from a very wide range of my artwork, dating back to 2018 (now that’s vintage!). Basically, me and my entire portfolio will be at the premises.. along with some new/works in progress, too. So, get those dates in your calendars and book a trip to The Cotswolds – I want to meet you all! Private view will be organised for friends/family/collectors. More later.

Last note: Commissions

Wedding preparations delayed my spring commissions a tad, but I’m back on it and ready to fill spaces for July to September. If you’re hoping to add a totally bespoke artwork to your living space – perhaps a specific landscape, still life scene, abstract emotive piece etc. – drop me an email ([email protected]) or head to my contact page and let’s work together on it.

Much love, Emma

art space emma howell