Making Work!

I’m caught in a vicious circle.

I have to admit, I’m incredibly lucky to be able to work from a studio in the garden. There’s no commute, apart from the short walk up the garden path, no traffic, no office politics, no real barriers to getting on with the work. So why does it so often feel as though there is always something else demanding my attention? Immediately. Right now. This minute.

I spend a fair amount of time feeling slightly aggrieved with myself, and, if I’m honest, a bit of a failure too. Such a small percentage of the ideas I dash into journals ever seem to make it out into the world.

But every so often I do manage to put my head down and make. When that happens, I disappear into the work for hours at a time. Printing, cutting, planning, folding, stitching, proofing. Entire afternoons vanish without me noticing. Which, of course, means that nothing else gets done.

And while I’m immersed in making, all the small domestic jobs and admin tasks that quietly mutter away in the background begin to pile up. Emails unanswered. Washing unfolded. Forms half-filled in. The sort of things that make me feel disorganised and slightly behind on everything.

Eventually it all builds up until it spills over, and I find myself pulled away from the studio again, dealing with everything except the thing I most want to be doing: making prints and books.

And so the circle begins again.

This week began with working on colour & tone

decisions made - first prints

I admit,  I am a fan of a 'rainbow' roll

final prints

My guardian of the print shed.

New Pamphlet Books

The printing is finished, now it’s time to fold and stitch.

We live in an age of instant news, instant messages, instant everything. As the pace of life accelerates, our brains haven’t really changed; they still respond to the tactile, the rhythmic, the quietly focused. That’s where a sense of flow begins.

There’s something deeply satisfying about the steady rhythm of folding paper and stitching by hand. The repetition invites a calm, attentive state, one that feels increasingly rare, and all the more valuable for it.

Making these small, hand-printed and bound pamphlet books is very much a labour of love. The time they take is part of their meaning: a slower, more deliberate way of working that offers its own kind of reward.

This is a new series of pamphlet books I’m preparing for BABE 2026 in Bristol, taking place on Friday 26th and Saturday 27th June.

BABE is a free event, open to all, from 11am–5pm each day. It would be lovely to see you there.

The venue is about a 20-minute walk along the harbourside from the city centre: UWE Bristol City Campus at Spike Island, 133 Cumberland Road, Bristol BS1 6UX. Visitor information for Spike Island here.

Slow making is at the heart of what I do

 A neighbour’s question set this piece in motion, she asked "Don’t you get tired taking your dog along the same stretch of beach each day?" along with a line that’s been quietly circling my thoughts, by Emily Dickinson: “Forever is composed of nows.” I find myself returning to it, often.

As a maker of artists’ books, and as a printmaker, my work almost always brings together image and text. A simple question about walking the same stretch of beach each day led me to a series of quiet observations about small, everyday pleasures; found items, a friendly encounter, a shared, beautiful sunset, which in time slowly gathered themselves into this book.

It led me to reflect on how easily we slip into moving too quickly, always looking ahead, measuring time by what comes next. There’s often a quiet impatience in that, or a low hum of anxiety, as if we’re living slightly ahead of ourselves. And in doing so, the quieter details can get lost: the shift of light, the rhythm of the tide, the small, steady presence of the everyday.

Working by hand offers a different pace. It requires time and attention, a willingness to move slowly and really notice what’s there. There’s value in that slowness, in doing something deliberately and allowing things to unfold in their own time.  It gives me space to gather my thoughts, and to follow the ideas that begin to surface from the small finds I carry back to the studio.

As I cut and proof stencils, and bind, I watch the light shift across the room. I find myself holding onto fragments, gathering thoughts and memories and gently fixing them to the page, the work becoming a way of holding onto the present.

Pages coming together

Write... Print... Bind... And begin again.

World Book Night 2026 – The Mountains Are Calling…

World Book Night is an annual international celebration bringing together text and image artists’ books in a participatory exploration of reading and making, and this year’s theme did not disappoint.

WBN United Artists invited participants to read and respond to a text or book about mountains, and I found the project genuinely enjoyable from start to finish. It gave me the perfect excuse to revisit a wonderful book by an excellent nature writer, one I was very glad to spend time with again.

Macfarlane, Robert. 2003. Mountains of the Mind: A History a Fascination, Granta Publications

The event is organised by Sarah Bodman and Linda Parr, with input from Nancy Campbell. Each year, artists are invited to create a 2D or 3D work (which must fold flat to fit into an A5 envelope) inspired by that year’s book choice, before sending it off to be part of an exhibition and mail art swap.

It’s a wonderfully intimate format that manages to feel both personal and international at the same time.

My submission is a small trifold book, combining woodcut, stencil, and digital print.

For more information about World Book Night 2026, you can find the full brief here, and take a look at this short video for a closer look at the project.