The vagina dentata, once told as a myth of fear, carries the weight of centuries of patriarchal anxiety, yet here the teeth become a quiet language of consent, a claim to autonomy and choice. Soft yarn and pliable wire bend and hold, shaping resilience alongside vulnerability, while red threads spiral like talismans, marking boundaries, protection, and the gathering of power. Hung as a child’s mobile, the work sways gently with the stories we inherit and carry forward, tracing how narratives of bodies, desire, and power settle into us long before we know it. In this space, myth is transformed—not as warning, but as a vessel of strength, presence, and self-determination, a reminder that the stories we tell can hold us, shape us, and set us free.

“What do you do for a living?”

“Um, I used to teach but I’m dabbling in some painting now.”

“Oh that’s cool, are you an artist?”

“Well….no, I’m just a beginner…, I’m just learning…..,I’d like to be one but I’m not there yet….”

I’ve had several awkward conversations like the one above - but this begs the question - where is this mythical “there”? At what point do we cross the rubicon and move from hobbyist to artist? When I was doing my Foundation Art diploma - it was easy to say I was a student pursuing my passion in art (I am an artist in the making I would say) but now that I’ve graduated and returned to non-art-school life - what am I? I am juggling life and caring for family and home while trying to build a portfolio of work that I might one day approach a gallery with or enter an open call successfully. Can I really call myself an artist now?

Every time Autumn comes around, it is hard not to be inspired by nature and the glorious colours and sensations that it brings. That descending fresh chill in the air, misty sunshine breaking through crowns of flame coloured leaves. I wanted….needed to do something with those beautiful jewelled coloured leaves lying in great abundance every where I walked. So I decided to make a leaf tapestry that I would hang in my local woods. A piece to make us look again and to give a second life to those fallen leaves. It was my first (unasked for) public installation.

On a damp January in 2022, I had just moved my daughter into her student accommodation in London. While waiting for her to unpack - I wandered into the wonderfully charming L Cornelissen & Son on Great Russell Street. Amongst the bottles of brilliantly coloured pigments and selection of gorgeous papers, I felt inspired and decided that my new year’s resolution would be to try and tap into my creativity. I walked out of there with a sketchbook, putty rubber, rag paper and some paint brushes.

Not long after, I started drawing ands overtaken by the most delightful compulsion - I was drawing, playing with watercolours and ink, sewing on painted cloth, cutting linomats to make prints and zealously seeking out other artists on social media to see what I could learn.