Painted on board reclaimed from a boat build taking place near our barge, this painting was inspired by a song about starting life anew. The song was written and performed by Ard Matthews, who is a South African singer-songwriter whom we met in Brazil, after my 4th Atlantic crossing.

The song is about leaving shallow waters - leaving behind dreams that didn’t come true - and striking out for the horizon, for something completely new.

When you leave shallow waters, the deep water can be terrifying to begin with. After a while, you become braver - and when you look back, you wonder why you were so worried in the first place.

30cm long x 15 cm high, oil painting on marine fibreboard. Imbued with hope for a brighter future.

This painting is your invitation to do precisely that. The water is warmer than you expect.

12.5cm x 12.5cm, oil on cradled board, unframed

This board sailed on Cesarina from Ramsgate in 2021, down the coast of France, Spain and Portugal, to the Canaries and then the Cape Verdes and across the Atlantic. It visited Grenada and almost every island on the way up to Antigua where it crossed the Atlantic again the other way and arrived safe and sound in Southampton. I have used it for this collection because I know that it is itself imbued with the spirit of freedom and infinite possibility.

This painting is inspired by the view from a wonderful and entirely empty beach looking back towards Jolly Harbour in Antigua. We could see it from a distance through the binoculars, but didn’t realise until we got there how easy it was going to be to haul the dinghy out of the water. We came back later with a BBQ and watched other yachts leave for their next adventure.

Sometimes, watching other people strike out into the unknown is enough adventure for one day. Sometimes, it’s your turn to hoist your sails and set your course for the horizon.

12.5cm x 12.5cm, oil on cradled board, unframed

This board sailed on Cesarina from Ramsgate in 2021, down the coast of France, Spain and Portugal, to the Canaries and then the Cape Verdes and across the Atlantic. It visited Grenada and almost every island on the way up to Antigua where it crossed the Atlantic again the other way and arrived safe and sound in Southampton. I have used them for this collection because I know that they are themselves imbued with the spirit of freedom and infinite possibility.

There’s a little tiny person near the horizon on this painting, walking two dogs along an enormous beach.

Do you ever wonder what would happen if you… simply carried on walking and never went back?

15cm x 20cm, oil on cradled board, unframed

This board sailed on Cesarina from Ramsgate in 2021, down the coast of France, Spain and Portugal, to the Canaries and then the Cape Verdes and across the Atlantic. It visited Grenada and almost every island on the way up to Antigua where it crossed the Atlantic again the other way and arrived safe and sound in Southampton. I have used these boards for this collection because I know that they themselves are imbued with the spirit of freedom and infinite possibility…

This is only the beginning.

This painting was inspired by my memories of sailing in the Solent, not long after my 40th birthday. I had always wanted to sail but my limited experience had been chaotic and, occasionally, downright dangerous. I had just assumed that it was a dream best left to moulder on the Bucket List.

But then along came a new partner and suddenly everything looked different - he had been sailing catamarans for decades and had so much to teach me. This painting was inspired by the week I got my RYA Day Skipper certificate - crazy, wonderful, the start of an addiction that would take me 5 times across the Atlantic to date (although I didn’t know that then…)

Sometimes, you have absolutely no idea how far new skills will take you. Follow your heart and your instinct - they are always your true north.

15cm x 20cm, oil on cradled board, unframed

By the way, this board sailed on Cesarina from Ramsgate in 2021, down the coast of France, Spain and Portugal, to the Canaries and then the Cape Verdes and across the Atlantic. It visited Grenada and almost every island on the way up to Antigua where it crossed the Atlantic again the other way and arrived safe and sound in Southampton. I have used it for this collection because I know that it is itself imbued with the spirit of freedom and infinite possibility.

If you’re a wild swimmer, or a sea swimmer, or simply someone who loves the beach, you have probably dreamed of this. Or, if you are lucky, you have already experienced it. There’s nothing like it: the sense of being alone on a beautiful beach, walking slowly into water warm enough to bathe in, preparing to float with your ears underwater, deaf to all modern-day distractions.

Sometimes, the freedom is in our own heads - we just need to find it.

15cm x 20cm, oil on cradled board, unframed

By the way, this board sailed on Cesarina from Ramsgate in 2021, down the coast of France, Spain and Portugal, to the Canaries and then the Cape Verdes and across the Atlantic. It visited Grenada and almost every island on the way up to Antigua where it crossed the Atlantic again the other way and arrived safe and sound in Southampton. I have used it for this collection because I know that it is itself imbued with the spirit of freedom and infinite possibility.

The Pass, 2019.
120cm square, acrylic and silica painting on stretched canvas.
⠀
Do you ever dream of flying? Have you sailed to wild places? I dreamed that this is how a reef pass would look from above and this is what I painted. It reminded me of our Pacific sailing adventures. I can't wait to get back on the boat and back on the water, but in the meantime, I can reminisce and dream...⠀
⠀
You have to time a reef pass right in a yacht. You can't get the tide wrong or you could be trying to thrash your way through a tiny passage while the whole wide ocean is roaring in the other way. In some of the atoll reef passes in the Tuamotus, the current belts in and out at up to 7kts, with standing waves of several metres. The passes are sometimes only tens of metres wide and the reef waits like teeth on either side, hungry to tear strips out of the hull of any unwary or unwitting sailors. ⠀
⠀
Once you're inside the reef barrier though, the water is calm and teems with wildlife. A rainbow of coral and industrious little fish await you as you dip your body beneath the surface of the bath-warm turquoise waters. If the atolls are well-established, you can dinghy or swim ashore to linger in the shade of a palm tree fluttering in the light breeze, marvel at the bright whiteness of the sand between your toes and the shimmering dance of the sunlight on the picture-perfect lagoon. ⠀
⠀
Later, the sun sets quickly out of a pink sky into an indigo sea and the stars sparkle overhead like a million fireflies. ⠀
⠀
Lobster and fresh mahi-mahi for supper with a crisp, chilled glass of Pouilly Fumé that you bought for a king's ransom in French Polynesia somewhere, then grilled fresh pineapple; later rum cocktails and someone picks up the guitar to gently play and sing in the dark, with the gentle kiss of the ocean against the hull, ready to rock you asleep. ⠀
⠀
Close your eyes and take my hand. Let me take you there with me. ⠀

The last manned lighthouse in the whole of the UK. It was finally automated in 1998. 

There has been a light on this point since 1691, keeping shipping from running aground.

I have walked, cycled, driven and sailed past this landmark. It’s at the top of a hill (unsurprising, given its role), so I am mostly breathing hard by the time I get there!

This is a beacon - of hope and safety.

Acrylic on panel, 30cm square, framed in a white-painted solid wood floating frame.

£275

No: 5006

I left the Solent in a boat in 2014 for the first time. It was a dirty great big, brand spanking new Lagoon 52 catamaran, basically a floating apartment block, and I was alone on board with my then partner who was an extremely experienced sailor.

I, however, was not,. You have to start somewhere, right?

We had a bumpy start to that passage, chucked around in the overfalls and the filthy seas that are caused by a fast-moving current over a shallowing and uneven sea bed, plus a little wind against tide as we came through the Needles. We got soaked, and our autopilot couldn’t cope with it at all - actually, it got extremely confused and at one point wanted to sail us straight onto the cliffs. Not ideal!

Once we were out the other side though, it was a beautiful and calm passage down to the Channel Islands. And this was the sunrise that greeted us. The beginning of my real sailing adventures. A fresh start and a brand new day.

Oil on canvas, 40cm square, framed in solid wood.

£400

Also available unframed if preferred - please enquire.

If you look closely, you can see the Reculver Towers on a distant headland. They have stood since 597AD, serving as a landmark for shipping and a deterrent to invaders. They are visible for miles and miles.

When the weather starts to get a bit misty and there are cirrus clouds up high, you know there is a warm front coming. Warm fronts mean rain, sometimes storms.

I loved painting this enormous piece. It is incredibly imposing and there is an element of trompe l’oeil about it, as if you could also cycle into this view - just like I did.

It took me a long time, painting in my apartment overlooking the sea in Margate. The skies there are extraordinarily beautiful - JMW Turner was on to something when he moved there.

It is a stunning piece - a real conversation starter.

Shipping of this work is available worldwide. I will arrange courier delivery within the UK of the painting still on its stretcher. For international shipping, you can also choose to have it taken off its stretcher and rolled, to be unrolled and re-stretched by your framer.

Do you have the room for this beauty?

20cm x 20cm, oil on stretched canvas. Framed in a white wooden frame, ready to hang.

It was a sparkling, fizzy kind of June day at anchor in Osborne Bay off the Isle of Wight. We had had a brisk sail over from Gosport, dropped our anchor and eaten sandwiches and crisps in the cockpit. The water was warm and the bay was busy with boats.

Dietmar stretched out in the cockpit with a book and I set myself up with my oil paints on the very breezy foredeck of Cesarina and did my best to capture the sparkle on the water.

Messing about on boats - a perfect way to spend a Saturday afternoon…

This painting was shortlisted (last 6) for the Sennelier plein air painting prize in 2021.

A magical trip up the Indian River, just south of Portsmouth, Dominica.

No motors are allowed, so aside from the clicking of camera and the clunking of the oars, there was silence as we splashed lazily up river, searching for herons fishing for crabs in the shallows and secretive little birds nesting in thick undergrowth.

The boat cruised gently through the narrow, dark waterways, winding its way between twisted buttress roots. Little creatures plopped into the water and scuttled away into the shadows. The heavens opened to soak us and we clustered underneath plastic sheets, enthralled by the mystery of the place.

A stop at the Bush Bar for a tour of the local rums and other produce, before strolling through the beautiful gardens out the back and a section of the Waitakubuli Trail, and then it was time to get back into the boat and paddle back to the real world.

I wanted to stay there, in the thick air and the tangling magic.

Original painting in oil on canvas, measures 20cm x 20cm and is painted on the sides in cobalt blue, which reflects against the offset white wooden frame. This painting is already framed and ready to hang a little tropical sunshine on your wall.

Oil on canvas panel painting measuring 305 x 225 unframed. This painting has been framed professionally in a white wooden frame and is ready to hang.

It’s a hot summer’s day and you have been hunched over your desk all day, wishing that the air conditioning engineer would hurry up and fix it. Finally, the end of the working day rolls around and you can hop in the car and get yourself down to the harbour where a little boat awaits, bobbing obediently at the dock, waiting for you to cast off.

Out on the water, with the wind in your hair and your sails, it’s time to forget all those annoying emails. You can leave the cares of the day in your frothing wake as you make the most of the last of the sun’s rays.

That’s the magic of sailing.

This little beauty has been mounted and framed professionally and is ready to hang on your wall, to remind you of those beautiful moments of unbounded freedom on the water.

We saw and loved this view every single day for over 3 months, even when the harbour froze around us.

When it warmed up slightly, I started this painting en plein air and finished it in the wheelhouse when it started raining (no surprise in a Dutch winter!).

We love this picture-perfect little town. Have you ever been there? It’s a lot like the Truman Show - everyone is friendly, the streets are clean, the people are good-looking, there is no graffiti. The Dutch don’t pull their curtains at night so you can see one perfect family in their perfect little house after another as you walk down the street.

During the day, the harbour is full of wildfowl - cormorants and shag feasting, ducks paddling around purposefully, coots calling. Geese fly high in skeins overhead morning and evening, going out to feed and coming back to rest.

This painting carries so many good memories of kindness and adopted community. If you've ever been a stranger in a foreign land, I hope you recognise this feeling.

Oil on cotton canvas, stretched over a softwood frame.

Original painting 20cm x 20cm, oil on canvas, framed in a white wooden frame, and ready to hang.

Batibou Beach - such a glorious place to stop for a quick drink and a snack - or the whole day.

Turquoise waters, soft sand and a little cafe and shop where they sell delicious things (including some homemade cream punch which had more punch than cream!) in the shade of the hot Dominican sunshine.

Peace and quiet, lapping water and rustling palm leaves. Bliss.

The sides of this painting are painted in an emerald shade of green which reflects against the offset white wooden frame.

We had hiked up and down hill, through thick mud and sticky jungle, and eventually slithered down a bank to be greeted by crystal clear water running gaily over a small waterfall, creating a perfect - and very deep - pool.

We all jumped - for me, the fear was very real - the fifteen feet or so into the fresh water, which makes you sink fast if you are used to the buoyancy of salty water. And then we all sat around the edge of the pool and enjoyed the sunshine and the sparkles. Some got out to jump again. I sat and watched, playing with my feet in the current like a child.

The Dominican men are often broad-shouldered, strapping and disarmingly handsome. Our guide was no exception.

Original painting in oil on canvas measures 20cm x 20cm. The sides of the canvas are painted in magenta, which reflects on the inside of the white wooden frame. This painting is framed and ready to hang a little tropical magic and Dominican charm in a corner of your home.

I nearly got blown away in this painting! I was standing on the harbour arm in Ramsgate, looking north to the little beach that nestles behind Ramsgate Harbour. There was a woman in a bright red raincoat and a little dog that was racing up and down the beach around her. It was so windy, but otherwise a bright and shiny autumn day.

I love that stretch of coastline between Margate, Cliftonville and Ramsgate - between the cliffs and the houses perched and the broad sandy beaches, it has a little of everything. British seaside magic - salty chips, a pint of local ale, and the biting tang of the north sea.

If you’re looking for me, this is where I will be.

Original painting in oil on a cradled birchwood panel, measures 20cm x 20cm and is painted on the sides in white. It will hang or sit happily on a shelf.

Night falls fast in the Caribbean. If you go ashore in daylight and get sidetracked by rum punches or maybe a delicious BBQ, then it’s going to be dark by the time you head back to your dinghy and you want to hope that you have remembered a torch of some kind…

After just one of those afternoons that slipped into an evening that turned into dancing and chatting to strangers that became friends, we returned to our dinghy to go back to Cesarina. This was the view from the dinghy dock jetty in Prince Rupert Bay, Portsmouth in Dominica, looking north.

We had padded back down the beach, through pools of light in the shallows and deep shadows. There are a couple of bars and tiny restaurants, strung with palm fronds and fairy lights and flags from all around the world. Locals and sailors lounge about, sucking on cigars or fat reefers. The air is alive with insects and bats and the soft throb of creole beats.

Dominica is a special place. Even by night, the beauty of this place is overwhelming and the sky is alight with a billion stars. As we moved away from the bar, we could hear the chirrup of the tree frogs and I swear you can hear them if you lean in to this painting.

This original painting in oil on canvas measures 20cm x 20cm unframed. The sides of this painting are painted in ultramarine blue and the colour reflects on the offset white wooden frame. This painting is already framed and is ready to hang on your wall to bring a little Caribbean night magic into your home.

On my second Atlantic crossing, we had every kind of weather, although mostly not very much wind at all. We had chosen a route that should have let us pick up the trade winds but in fact left us wallowing in not very much wind at all a lot of the time, or dodging enormous line squalls that threatened very big winds and a lot of rain.

Squalls sometimes produce spectacular sunrises though…

An Atlantic crossing is such an achievement, regardless of what size boat you sail it in. It’s usually at least two weeks of being confined to not very many square metres with other people - typically you like them a lot at the beginning of the voyage and - for better or for worse - know them really well at the end of it. It will make or break a friendship or a relationship if you’re not ready for the impact of such close proximity and no choice about when and where you share your space with others.

I love the night watches. I am much more introverted than most people assume and I really enjoy the beautiful solitude of those lonely, long, dark hours. The sun rising at the end of your watch is something incredibly special. It doesn’t matter how wild the night was - there is something unspeakably wonderful about that small orb of fire pushing its way up above the horizon - every morning without fail.

Oil on canvas, 20cm square, framed in a 2.5cm wide frame made of solid wood, painted white. The painting is varnished and ready to hang on your wall.

£195

This sunrise was about 200 miles after leaving Gibraltar on a brand new, big catamaran in 2014- in my previous life. I was on my way to cross the Atlantic for the first time. I was really new to sailing and everything was a massive adventure.

I learned to love sailing at night and particularly the dawn watch. I dislike being woken at 2am in the middle of a deep sleep, quietly shaken awake by my retiring shipmate, but the dawn later always makes it worth it.

I quietly pull my oilies on in the dark, bleary-eyed, find my glasses and a hat, get a quick briefing (weather, the traffic, the sails) and take over so that my fellow sailor can then gratefully climb into their bunk.

It had been a busy night- it's a very busy part of the world's oceans, where most of the shipping for the Mediterranean squeezes through the gap between Morocco and Gibraltar; 71,000 ships every year plough through this 8 mile wide gap between Europe and Africa.

When you're sailing in the night, you try not to turn on any white lights because it wrecks your night vision for ages. I learned to creep around in the dark, using every handhold that I knew blind, turning on a red headlamp only if I really needed to. I learned to turn all the instrumentation down to the minimum light level - so dark that it's hard to see to turn it back up in the daylight. I learned to listen to the boat. I learned the patterns of lights on other ships so I could tell what kind of ship, how big, which direction. I learned that you can see on the instruments (AIS) where some ships are going and how fast - exotic destinations like Singapore, Cape Town, New York. I still always wonder about them and their crew, also carving a watery path through the darkness.

I learned that the sky - and sometimes the ocean too - is sometimes full of stars from horizon to horizon. I learned that the sun always rises.

With every painting, I remember the magic of the dawn. I hope you enjoy this one.

Oil on canvas, 20cm square, framed in solid wood painted white.

£195

Also available unframed - please message me.

A sailor called Sandy sent this to me for this project. Amazing story.

“Sharing this photo from one of my hardest sailing trips.

Sunrise after a harrowing few days on Tres Hombres, an engineless sail cargo ship. We were making our way through the Bay of Biscay and after days of storms in gale force winds, this was the first calm morning.

When the next watch crew came above deck, we all stood silently watching the sun rise. It was one of the most cathartic experiences of my life. I felt so connected to my crew, so grateful for their tireless efforts, patience, and for the safety of a well built ship.”

Oil on board, 30cm x 20cm, framed in a pale softwood tray frame, ready to hang.

Also available unframed - please message me.

This is an image from my first Atlantic crossing in 2014 in fact, between Gran Canaria and Mindelo on São Vicente in the Cape Verde Islands. It was an epic leg where the captain was unwell and a fellow female sailor and I had to get right out of our comfort zones. It's a long story. Ask us over a Cuba Libre sometime…

Many sailors I know prefer day sailing to ocean crossings. They can be claustrophobic and dreadful when you have a bad crew mixture, I grant you - like Love Island, with all the dreadfulness but none of the snogging/ fame/ big money payout, just broken friendships and a big headache at the end.

When you're sailing long distance with people you know and love, it's a whole other story. I'm massively looking forward to my next Atlantic crossing - number 3 in fact - with my husband as Captain and an all-woman crew of experienced and skilled sailors (who also happen to be badass cooks!).

I love the dawn watch, the thick black night ceding to a sparkling dawn. On mornings like this, a tangerine sunrise might herald the calm before the storm. We certainly had enough wind on that journey- we went like a train in that Lagoon 52!

COVID-19 has properly complicated 2020 (I think we're all agreed on this) so we've postponed our crossing on Cesarina to next year. Covid didn't stop me from following some of my dreams though. It's at times like this when it's important to pivot, to remain flexible, to stick with your dreams but adapt them to the circumstances or just get creative with how to execute them.

I'm thrilled to be raising money with this series of paintings for The Maiden Factor which is continuing to support education and inspire girls and women all over the world. Tracy Edwards was and continues to be a massive inspiration to me. If you haven't seen the film Maiden, all about her Whitbread Round the World Race entry with an all-women crew, please go and watch it. You'll understand why I wanted to be a tiny part of this story

Oil on board, 15cm x 20cm

This beautiful image was sent to me by a sailor called Renee who now lives in the Abacos, having lost her catamaran in Hurrican Dorian.

She found her happiness after the darkness.

This is the sunrise over Grand Abaco.

Oil on box canvas, 20cm square. The edges of this piece are painted and it is ready to hang on your wall.

£195