What Was is No More
The sea, its landscape, and its wild borders continually influence my work, shaping the daily flow, rhythm, and direction of my studio practice.
Earlier this year on a field trip with participants from one of my SEA GLASS FLAME workshops, I was thunderstruck to discover an irrevocable change to the ancient rock that towers above the west shore of Whitepark Bay. A landslide had swept away all evidence of the elevated cave — a beloved landmark along what is, in my opinion, the finest stretch of the Ulster Way North Antrim Coast footpath, between Carrick-a-Rede and Dunseverick Castle.
Since discovering this transformation, I — and it seems many others — have returned again and again to witness this new-era monument. Silently and independently, we stand in collective awe, beholding the sheer force of nature and, for me, mourning the loss.
A magical dwelling, sculpted over thousands of years by water and wind, has shapeshifted and now become my hallowed natural shrine. Its transformation has forever changed my perception of West Whitepark Bay.
It has also made me reflect on a similar seismic transformation taking place within my own practice.
For some time, I had dreamed of a period of quieter studio time: space to concentrate on and consolidate ideas, and perhaps work within a more predictable rhythm. But I could never figure out how to make this possible. However, what I could not have anticipated was a series of unexpected opportunities that would arrive and sweep me gently — and sometimes dramatically — off course.
Some were the result of the many, many hours spent writing applications and proposals. Others appeared almost miraculously in my inbox and DMs, seemingly out of the blue.
A recap of recent events beginning August 2025
and swept me off on a different trajectory
I shipped a pallet of five artworks to the Fort Wayne Museum of Art for Mimesis, and was delighted that four works were acquired for the museum’s permanent collection.
I was also fortunate to receive the Rosy James Memorial Trust Award, administered by the Arts Council of Northern Ireland. This significant craft bursary is now supporting a period of studio-based research and development towards a multimedia installation exploring sound and light within my work.
An unexpected commission came from the National Museum of Ireland: a limited series of tree ornaments created to accompany an exhibition featuring the museum’s collection of Blaschka models.
I launched my online shop, creating Christmas ornaments, while also dedicating space to works supporting a fundraising initiative celebrating 35 years of QEST — whose 2022 bursary significantly changed the trajectory of my career.
During the short days of winter light, I created a small collection to accompany the release of the Ffern Winter 26 fragrance, alongside a collaboration with Doreen Kilfeather, who documented my studio, work, and the landscape of Dunseverick.
I was truly delighted to be selected as one of 16 makers for a major contemporary craft collaboration between National Museums Scotland and National Museums NI. The project began with shared research and knowledge-exchange workshops in Edinburgh and Belfast, and will culminate in a new work inspired by their collections, to be exhibited at the National Museum of Scotland before travelling to the Ulster Museum.
There has also been a considerable amount of travel and exhibition-making: journeys between Dublin and Belfast for the RDS Craft Awards, where I was shortlisted in the Established Makers category, and the opportunity to represent Ireland at Collect following my selection by the Design & Crafts Council Ireland.
For Collect, I created an installation piece titled What Remains, inspired by a reflection on the Substack post by Chloe Hope that arrived in my inbox at the beginning of the year.
And finally, I was shortlisted for the inaugural House & Garden UK Craft Prize, receiving a special mention for my work at the prize-giving at Sotheby’s.
View from inside the cave 2024
So, what does all this mean for the rhythm of my practise — for the flood of commissions and teaching opportunities that have come to me recently?
My response… I have declared this a Magical Year of Being.
As Robert Macfarlane writes in The Wild Places:
“We cannot navigate and place ourselves only with maps that make the landscape dream-proof, impervious to the imagination.”
The collision of a few significant bursary-funded projects — particularly the Rosy James Memorial Trust Award and the National Museums Scotland and National Museums NI collaboration — made it clear to me that I need to commit fully to the act of making itself.
This means showing up in the studio every day and pushing through the hours, days, and weeks when apparently nothing seems to be progressing. It means allowing ideas to remain unresolved for a while. It means making space for guilt-free time spent combing the strandline, observing, gathering, walking, wondering, and allowing understanding to emerge slowly through sustained attention to landscape and making.
Perhaps most importantly, it means accepting that not everything needs to happen at once.
Part of honouring this Magical Year of Being means resisting the pressure to overextend myself. Therefore April 2026 - April 2027 I am stepping away from commissions, teaching and experiences in favour of a slower, research-led rhythm of making.
View from shoreline low tide 15th May 2026
Rather than working towards a constant stream of commissioned pieces, I want to allow new work to emerge organically from this period of exploration — and, given time, release seasonal collections through my website as they quietly take shape.
The transformation of the cave at Whitepark Bay has become a powerful reminder of this. Landscapes change. Forms collapse and reform. What appears permanent is not necessarily so. Sometimes the most meaningful shifts happen beyond our control, and our task is simply to pay attention.
This is where I find myself now: paying attention, making, gathering, walking, listening, and allowing the work to evolve.
I hope you will continue to follow along and find something meaningful in what emerges. And, as always, thank you for your continued support, patience, and encouragement. It means more than words can express.
I look forward to sharing what comes next.
