Sky

Hand-painted and printed papers using pigment and ink
 
 
'Sky' alludes to air and falling feathers. Like fallen angels, there are glistening gold pigments in some areas but not all - precious, cherished, unique - a glimmer and a glimpse of hope, memory, and chance.
 
Like the air we breathe, ‘Sky’ is a breath of fresh air. The crisp white paper’s edge draws our eye across the work to the cloudy edge peppered with grey. Whilst the depths of printed blues at its core draw us in and, like an eye, it looks back at us. 
 
Printed feathers and quill-like strokes decorate the paper, to give it form and reveal its meaning. Fleeting moments of feathers, cloud formations, and clear skies take the viewer to the vast sky above us all - there is beauty in the fall, a nod to lost loved ones as they gift us with beauty from the sky.  
 
This piece gives back - there is always something different to see as you lose yourself in its folds. And yet, it’s the same trusty ‘Sky’ in its endless cycle of being, giving, bringing light and shade, from water and wing beats, offering symbolism and solace.
 
Background meaning for my family (memorial piece):
 
She left us beneath a crescent moon with Venus, the evening star, shining brightly beside it. It felt like one of those skies that asks you to stop and look up, and perhaps that’s why Sky became the piece I made in memory of her.
 
For a long time, I called the work Beauty in the Fall. It spoke to falling feathers, to loss, to the quiet beauty that can still exist alongside grief. In the end, I chose Sky because it felt more open. It allows people to find their own meaning.
 
She could be mistaken for someone understated. In many ways she was gentle, thoughtful and unassuming. But that was only the surface. Beneath it was a remarkable woman with a wicked laugh, a fierce independence that began in her youth, and a life full of stories. She had been a model, she worked alongside her entrepreneurial husband, and she never lost the strength and spirit of the northern girl she had always been.
 
She didn’t need to be the loudest person in the room to leave an impression. Like the small touches of gold woven through Sky, she caught the light in unexpected moments. The brilliance wasn’t everywhere at once - it appeared in flashes, in laughter, in kindness, in resilience, and in the stories she carried.
 
As I made the work, I found myself thinking about feathers, air, light, and the endless movement of the sky. The folds of the paper seemed to hold memories, revealing something different each time I looked. I realised that remembrance isn’t fixed. Like the sky itself, it changes from day to day, yet somehow remains constant.
 
When I look at Sky now, I don’t only think about loss. I think about beauty, hope, and the ways people continue to shape us after they have gone. Sometimes that comes in a memory. Sometimes in a burst of laughter that catches us by surprise. Sometimes in an evening sky where Venus hangs beside a crescent moon, asking us to pause for a moment.
 
Perhaps that’s what remembrance really is. Not holding on to someone exactly as they were, but recognising them in the light they leave behind.