Where do I find beauty?

It felt like such a simple question, yet as I sat with it, all these vivid, heartfelt images rose to the surface — moments, memories, tiny sparks of joy that weave colour through my days. I reached for my journal and let the words spill out. What emerged became the seed of this blog.

I find beauty in my daughter’s smile and laugh — the kind that fills a room with warmth.
In the crumpled nose of my nephew when he giggles, and the all-in, wrap-you-up hugs from my niece.
I find beauty in the colourful leaves and berries that cling to branches this time of year, in the twist of stems, the scatter of fallen petals, and the fractals of ice beginning to creep along pavements and windows.

Beauty lies in colour and pattern all around us: pink lipstick, funky jewellery, the boldness of art.
It’s in the creative process too — in the mess, the mistakes, the happy accidents that turn into something meaningful.
It shows up in music, films that make us feel something, comedy that makes us snort-laugh, books that speak to the soul, and the quiet genius of a good puzzle.

It’s in a home-cooked meal.
A heart emoji from someone you love.
The gentle comfort of a hand held in yours.

And the thing that struck me most as I wrote was this:
beauty isn’t rare — it’s everywhere. We just forget to look up and notice.

It usually starts with a flicker—a flash of colour in a garden I’m passing, the way morning light hits a windowsill, or a half-remembered dream that lingers into breakfast. Inspiration doesn’t often arrive with a grand announcement. For me, it sneaks in gently, asking to be noticed.

Some days, it’s rooted in nature: the curl of a fern, the bold confidence of a sunflower, or the hush of a misty coastline. Other times, it’s a memory—of childhood holidays, days trips, or conversations with a friend. Little moments, half-glimpsed and deeply felt, that quietly ask to be turned into ink and carved into lino.

I’ve learned to trust these sparks. To gather them like treasures. Because behind every print I make, there’s a story—stitched together from colour, curiosity, and the beautiful, ordinary magic of everyday life.

From an early age, I have enjoyed the great British seaside - earlier than I thought in fact.

I asked my mum for some childhood beach photos and one of them was this one of my looking awesome in dungarees and red sunnies. Apparently we were in Devon - I had no idea I even been there - and my toothy grin says it all really. What’s not to love about bare feet in the wet sand seeing parents building sandcastles and getting to knock them down?

I remember a trip to King Edward Bay in Tynemouth with my daughter at a similar age. It’s a pretty similar image except she was more adventurous and decided to sample the sand as food. Luckily the north east is home to some of the cleanest beaches in the UK.

We lived in the North West of England so most of our holidays were either in North Wales or The Lake District.