About the Artist

Between the Wye and the Severn, where mist clings to branches like old promises, I grew up in the Forest of Dean — not beside it, but within it. I’ve lived my whole life tucked among these trees, in a crooked cottage where the kettle never quite cools, the animals plot their own small rebellions, and the forest presses close as a neighbour with secrets to share. Foxes slip down my track as if it were theirs, and the owls have long since accepted me as part of the night’s furniture.

I’ve never been the sort who sits still. I’m stitched from restless threads — a bit odd, a bit feral, always wandering off because a rustle in the bracken asked a question I needed to answer. My small holding is a muddle of muddy boots, half‑finished ideas, and creatures with more personality than sense, all bound together by a lifelong devotion to the wild. Art found me the way the woodland does — quietly, then all at once. A fox stepped forward, then a hare, then a badger with dusk caught in its eyes. They didn’t arrive as subjects, but as guides — reminders of the wild soul we misplace when the world grows too loud.

Every creature I draw carries a piece of this place: the breath of moss after rain, the iron‑rich soil, the echo of hooves from long‑gone hunts, the hush of paths that only reveal themselves to those who listen. As a Forest of Dean wildlife artist, my British wildlife art isn’t just about animals — it’s about the land that shaped them, and the land that shaped me.

The Woodland Realm isn’t something I invented. It’s the quiet magic that rises when you pay attention — the guardianship owed to wild places that hold our stories long after we’ve forgotten them. Through my woodland wildlife drawings, I honour the creatures who move through these woods with purpose, and the forest that remembers every footstep — including mine. Step softly. You’re not just meeting my art. You’re meeting the life that made it.