There’s a quiet moment, just after crossing the border into Wales, where the rhythm of the road changes. The trees seem thicker, the light falls differently, ancient rhythms hum beneath the tarmac. It’s subtle, but I feel it every time. I cross into Wales not just with my car packed with paints and sketchbooks but with the anticipation of discovery. Because here, in this endlessly changeable landscape, is where creativity unfurls and where a very personal love story with Wales continues to grow.
Crossing the Border: The Call of Adventure
Whenever I can, I make the winding trip from the Midlands into the heart of Wales. There’s something symbolic in that journey, from the grinding motorways to the lanes that start to twist and climb with the hills.
No two trips are alike. You can wander into abandoned mining valleys, tiptoed through botanical gardens, lost hours beside lakes and ancient castles and explored border towns. Even the weather becomes part of the adventure gloom and glory in equal measure.
Weather as Muse: From Gloomy to Glorious
If you’ve travelled in Wales, you’ll know it: the sky changes by the minute. One morning might greet you with grey, misty light, the kind that diffuses every edge. But then, just when you’ve pulled your raincoat tight, the clouds part. Sunshine floods the hills and stretches late into the evening, painting golden shadows until well past the sun’s normal bedtime.
For me, this unpredictability isn’t a nuisance; it’s inspiration. The shifting skies mirror the mood of the land and the painter’s mind. Wales doesn’t present itself in easy light, it invites you to look deeper, to find beauty even in the drizzle.
Sketching the Welsh Landscape: Capturing the Spirit of Place
I never travel without a sketchbook. There’s a kind of urgency in outdoor painting here, a sense that what I see now might change in the next moment. That’s the joy. My sessions are often fleeting: pencil marks before a downpour, watercolours while the wind rearranges my pages. It’s not about perfection, but presence.
My four-year-old often joins me, pointing at sheep-dotted hills or asking if I’ll draw a particular tree. Sometimes he sketches too—his interpretations far more fearless than mine.
In these moments, the act of sketching becomes a dialogue with the landscape. I try to capture not just what I see, but what I feel.
How Wales Inspires My Art
Wales doesn’t just offer scenery, it offers narrative. Each valley, moor, or mining scar tells a layered story of industry, resilience, folklore, and wildness. In my art, I try to listen first. Each sketch becomes a conversation – with light, with wind, with place.
This is why I keep coming back. Wales doesn’t need to impress with grandeur: it simply is. Quietly powerful. Unapologetically itself.
And somewhere between the mountain rain and the salt-licked breeze, you’ll find not just inspiration, but a part of yourself you didn’t know was missing.
