Ghosts in the graveyard
55” x 35” / 140 cm x 90 cm
Watercolor, ink and water, and photographic transfer on silk
Ghosts in the Graveyard draws upon a duality of recollections: the comforting glow of a familial bonfire shared with my husband and children, contrasted against the darker, more chaotic memories of my own childhood. Mossy greens and a luminescent lilac haze dominate the composition, suggesting both the earthy pull of nostalgia and the ethereal promise of renewal. Flecks of yellow-teal hint at flickering flames—both a unifying beacon of warmth and an ever-present reminder of uncertainty.
An autobiographical thread echoes my youth, when late-night social gatherings often stretched into the small hours. Children like me played hide-and-seek—“ghosts in the graveyard”—amid muddy fields and the blurred outlines of inebriated adults. One unforgettable night, a man—completely naked—came running out of the darkness, right through a bonfire towering ten feet high.
I layer translucent washes over silk, embedding photographic transfers that capture brief, flickering impressions of movement—an homage to the fleeting images that persist in memory. This method of repeated layering makes personal recollections visually tangible, merging accident with intention. The resulting textures evoke both the immediacy of childhood vulnerability and the steadier awareness of adulthood.
Although this work is intensely personal, Ghosts in the Graveyard also speaks to broader themes of intergenerational memory, communal ritual, and the precarious boundary between safety and threat. In creating a space where childhood innocence collides with adult recklessness, I underscore how a single flame can illuminate moments of both familial comfort and raw unpredictability. Ultimately, this painting stands as a testament to the paradox of memory—how one fleeting night, one brief image, can refract endlessly across a lifetime, shaping everything from our deepest fears to our capacity for hope.
In the present moment, here with my young family in Surrey, I’m reminded that these recollections continue to weave through my life—illuminating the fragile line between what grounds us and what haunts us.
Gaze down at the children,
Theirs looking up at the smoke
The world shrinking to just them.
Damp air thick with moss,
Heavy with age.
Yellow wellies sinking,
beneath a purple meringue coat.
55” x 35” / 140 cm x 90 cm
Watercolor, ink and water, and photographic transfer on silk
Ghosts in the Graveyard draws upon a duality of recollections: the comforting glow of a familial bonfire shared with my husband and children, contrasted against the darker, more chaotic memories of my own childhood. Mossy greens and a luminescent lilac haze dominate the composition, suggesting both the earthy pull of nostalgia and the ethereal promise of renewal. Flecks of yellow-teal hint at flickering flames—both a unifying beacon of warmth and an ever-present reminder of uncertainty.
An autobiographical thread echoes my youth, when late-night social gatherings often stretched into the small hours. Children like me played hide-and-seek—“ghosts in the graveyard”—amid muddy fields and the blurred outlines of inebriated adults. One unforgettable night, a man—completely naked—came running out of the darkness, right through a bonfire towering ten feet high.
I layer translucent washes over silk, embedding photographic transfers that capture brief, flickering impressions of movement—an homage to the fleeting images that persist in memory. This method of repeated layering makes personal recollections visually tangible, merging accident with intention. The resulting textures evoke both the immediacy of childhood vulnerability and the steadier awareness of adulthood.
Although this work is intensely personal, Ghosts in the Graveyard also speaks to broader themes of intergenerational memory, communal ritual, and the precarious boundary between safety and threat. In creating a space where childhood innocence collides with adult recklessness, I underscore how a single flame can illuminate moments of both familial comfort and raw unpredictability. Ultimately, this painting stands as a testament to the paradox of memory—how one fleeting night, one brief image, can refract endlessly across a lifetime, shaping everything from our deepest fears to our capacity for hope.
In the present moment, here with my young family in Surrey, I’m reminded that these recollections continue to weave through my life—illuminating the fragile line between what grounds us and what haunts us.
Gaze down at the children,
Theirs looking up at the smoke
The world shrinking to just them.
Damp air thick with moss,
Heavy with age.
Yellow wellies sinking,
beneath a purple meringue coat.
55” x 35” / 140 cm x 90 cm
Watercolor, ink and water, and photographic transfer on silk
Ghosts in the Graveyard draws upon a duality of recollections: the comforting glow of a familial bonfire shared with my husband and children, contrasted against the darker, more chaotic memories of my own childhood. Mossy greens and a luminescent lilac haze dominate the composition, suggesting both the earthy pull of nostalgia and the ethereal promise of renewal. Flecks of yellow-teal hint at flickering flames—both a unifying beacon of warmth and an ever-present reminder of uncertainty.
An autobiographical thread echoes my youth, when late-night social gatherings often stretched into the small hours. Children like me played hide-and-seek—“ghosts in the graveyard”—amid muddy fields and the blurred outlines of inebriated adults. One unforgettable night, a man—completely naked—came running out of the darkness, right through a bonfire towering ten feet high.
I layer translucent washes over silk, embedding photographic transfers that capture brief, flickering impressions of movement—an homage to the fleeting images that persist in memory. This method of repeated layering makes personal recollections visually tangible, merging accident with intention. The resulting textures evoke both the immediacy of childhood vulnerability and the steadier awareness of adulthood.
Although this work is intensely personal, Ghosts in the Graveyard also speaks to broader themes of intergenerational memory, communal ritual, and the precarious boundary between safety and threat. In creating a space where childhood innocence collides with adult recklessness, I underscore how a single flame can illuminate moments of both familial comfort and raw unpredictability. Ultimately, this painting stands as a testament to the paradox of memory—how one fleeting night, one brief image, can refract endlessly across a lifetime, shaping everything from our deepest fears to our capacity for hope.
In the present moment, here with my young family in Surrey, I’m reminded that these recollections continue to weave through my life—illuminating the fragile line between what grounds us and what haunts us.
Gaze down at the children,
Theirs looking up at the smoke
The world shrinking to just them.
Damp air thick with moss,
Heavy with age.
Yellow wellies sinking,
beneath a purple meringue coat.