Art after Loss – Online Gallery
This gallery is a safe place for anyone, from professional artists to adults or children who have never consider themselves to be artists, to share their expression of loss through art. The art shared here might be a drawing or painting, a photograph or poem, collage, fabric creation or a link to a song. Any medium of art is welcome.
Everyone experiences bereavement and loss, and everyone will feel different. In addition, some people want support with bereavement and others choose to grieve privately. After loss, you may experience a wide variety of emotions, which may change over time and can often be very conflicting and challenging.
As part of our commitment to supporting wellbeing, we can help share resources about bereavement support and you are welcome to attend our bereavement support group, if you think that it might be helpful to listen and talk in a peer-support session. However, many people that we have supported have told us that they have found different ways to express their emotions, share their feelings and have used creativity to help support their wellbeing after loss.
With this in mind, we have created this online art gallery to celebrate and share some of the beautiful and meaningful ways that people have used art to help them after a loss or bereavement. We hope that this provides a platform for people to share their art, and that it may inspire others to use art to support them after loss or bereavement.
If you would like your art to be displayed on the online gallery, then, please do get in touch. If you would be happy to share some brief information about your artwork then that would be really helpful.
I created this piece to highlight how we can all live a little more in the present and have a positive impact on others. I experienced the goal with my brother, who at the time had no idea of how his world was going to be altered. The scorer of the goal had no idea of how his life was going to be altered. A few years later the diagnosis of brain tumours faced both men and they faced a long and hard battle. Sadly my brother Mark Harris lost his battle in 2015 and left many great memories for us. Dom is continuing the fight and continues to make memories for those around him.
To find out a little more about the piece please click on the link below.
Anthony Marn is an oil painter who lives and works in Manchester. He works exclusively with oils, working on contemporary themes using traditional techniques. When he was five years old his mother took her own life and eight years later his father did the same. It was only in later life that he allowed himself to open up and talk about the trauma he’d experienced as a teenager that he was able to paint what he truly felt. This has resulted in a deeply moving collection of images representing the emotional feeling of loss and the connection with the physical world our loved ones leave behind. Anthony hopes his work can allow others to explore how art can become pivotal to a person’s grieving process. @anthonymarnart
My Father’s Workshop
In the spare bedroom, just as he left it in 1976.
The family home for over 80 years which is now with a new family.
The Boy Within
This is a self-portrait of the boy that is trapped within me, still waiting for his father to come home.
The Morning After
The last time I saw my father I made him a cup of tea before going to school.
It was still there the morning after but he had gone.
Hello, I’m Kerr Mounie, Edinburgh fine artist, father and nature lover.
An ambassador for mental health, I know only too well the sense of loss, through the passing of my son. Creativity offers a wonderful way of passing time, celebrating life and preserving a memory.
If you would like to make art part of your healing, please get in touch using the links at the bottom of this page. Thank you for connecting with me on your journey.
Connection | 2022 | 50cm x 20cm | Original oil painting on canvas
Together | 2021 | 30cm x 20cm | Original oil painting on canvas
Solace | 2020 | 40cm x 50cm | Original oil painting on canvas
Gateway | 2022 | 40cm x 50cm | Original oil painting on canvas
Edinburgh fine artist Kerr Mounie explores local landscapes as a way of connecting with nature, unlocking creative inspiration and finding healing through art. Talk to Kerr about nature inspired art for your healing journey
‘Tittyboty’ by Vicky Gill
Do not be fooled into thinking that time is a magical healer. Time does not allow you to live like you did before your loss. Time does not return the loved one to your arms. Time does not take the pain away. Time does, however, allow your mind to shift its focus so that happy memories can drown out the sorrow.
Managing to switch your thoughts is the difficult part. Losing my dad forced me to see life from a totally different perspective, and I discovered by chance that looking through the lens of a camera enabled me to immerse myself into a world that focused only on the present. The images a lasting reminder of life outside of grief.
It soon became apparent that the smallest of detail captured in my photos brought the most comfort. I guess this is what my photos portray- memories that have infiltrated my mind and have brought me the greatest joy over the past few months. The stark realisation that the things that truly matter, those that have given life-long happiness were at the time the smallest insignificant of things. The hours spent playing pool during summer holidays by the sea. Memories of dad treating conkers with vinegar to give me a fighting chance of success in the playground. Dad teaching me the rules of football, how to head a ball, how to play the offside rule and the joy of team sport. Dad’s infinite patience building and rebuilding a house of cards. Over thirty years on these memories remain vivid-they can muster a smile rather than a tear, the photos a visual and eternal reminder that make me grateful to have shared a large part of his life and the absolute honour that I am, and always will be, his ‘tittyboty’ (little beauty).
Trees of Life – Northowram, Calderdale (August 2022)
These images of transient Land Art (or environmental art) were taken of a piece made in the cemetery of Hayward United Reformed Church in Northowram.
It was made with care and respect for this place of rest and burial at the site of one particular grave which lies under a rowan tree. Berries from the tree that were already falling on the grave were arranged around lip of the metal vase insert and joined to unripe clusters of buds from the Virginia creeper growing on a wall nearby.
The artist hopes that by introducing the vivid colours of new life we can find a way to celebrate things that are old or lost.
Death, loss and change in our life creates space for something new to emerge. Without these things there is no growth or renewal, they are as magic and sacred as birth and life itself. – Lucia Pec
#121, SHINE Pt 1 (Top Left). Stamens from Aesculus x Carnea, Wood. Hebden Bridge.
#122, SHINE Pt 2 (Top Right). Sycamore Flowers, Wood. Hebden Bridge.
#123, SHINE Pt 3 (Bottom Right). Field Campion Buds, Wood. Hebden Bridge.
#124, SHINE Pt 4 (Bottom Left). Winged Seeds, Wood. Hebden Bridge.
In this quadriptych of transient Land Art (or environmental art) pieces, each uses reclaimed planks of a Hebden Bridge resident’s late partners cherished wooden shed as a base, a starting point. A place of character that absorbed him and his pastimes but that eventually had to make way for something new.
SHINE is a mixture of old and new, the joining of the rescued and salvaged past with the new beginnings of life in seeds and flowers. Symbolic circles of regeneration, the cycles of decay, birth and new life.
“We Came Whirling Out of Nothingness, Scattering Stars Like Dust… The Stars Made a Circle, and In The Middle, We Dance.” – Rumi
Paper and The Elements, 2022
A group of poems – a tanka and 4 haikus – super-imposed on a photograph of the landscape of Cornholme, Calderdale. The piece arises from Emma’s recent work with diaries, her reflections on living and dying and her strong relationship with the landscape where she lives. Words and image by Emma Decent.
Emma is a writer, poet, performer and facilitator.
Goodnight, Friend (short documentary)
We call them four-legged friends, but for many they are family. When a beloved pet dies, life can seem incomplete. Worse still are the feelings of guilt that owners can if they have taken the difficult decision to have their pet ‘put to sleep’. For some, these feelings are too much to deal with on their own and they must seek support from those who have also felt this pain. Goodnight Friend is an emotional story of the bond between human and animal and asks how we can ever know the right time to say ‘goodnight’ to our faithful friends.
Link to the film – https://www.haremoonfilms.co.uk/my-work/goodnight-friend
Breathe, inhale and exhale, once again inhale, and exhale.
Close your eyes breathe, inhale and exhale, feel that warm breath.
Every waking moment breathing, inhale and exhale, everyday little moments that remind me of my parents, the laughter, love and the mutual respect.
As a photographer, some of my work is an inspired representation of the things we each individually or as a family appreciated.
To enjoy, respect and appreciate nature and the simple things in life. Enjoy that very brief single moment as this exact point in time will never be repeated again.
Breathe, respect every breath we take.
Mary P. Crowther ARPS
Come and find me
This one is called come and find me and is how I felt after my diagnosis of secondary breast cancer. I wanted to know that the angels would come and collect me!
The second one is realising death is all about love when it comes and being loved on earth and loved by spirit. I was holding onto the love around me. The space in between after diagnosis.
The third one is about sitting with my wife and an angel protecting us both as I start trying to accept the dying process. A difficult time for us but love is very powerful.
This image is about going back into Mother Earth – laying down and letting go of life. It has taken time to be able to finish this picture but also comes with some peace and acceptance.
John is a patient at Overgate Hospice who has a passion for writing poetry. This passion all started when John was 8 years old, and his Grandma Mary Spencer Brown taught John how to write rhyming poetry. John also remembers, around the same time, poet Pete Morgan visiting his school and being inspired to write his first poem and has been writing ever since.
John A. Fielden
Kallipateira Rodothea Moorhouse
Date of birth 26 October 2018
A drawing of Kallipateira that was done during a mother’s day art session.
Kallipateira was stillborn at 37 weeks.
The name Kallipateira originates from the very ancient Greek Olympic Games as the first women to enter the Olympic stadium to watch her son compete.
Rodothea is the Greek meaning for goddess of Rhodes.
When my son Dom died the pain was deep and all consuming. Things took on a new significance in the intense feelings at that time. The rainbow that sat over the bay, the bird that followed us around as we walked for want of any better idea for how to cope in the early days.
My friend Sarah sat and listened as I talked to her about some of the things that had happened. This painting is her interpretation of the highly personal meaning of objects with very little financial value, but which mean the world to me. They connect me to my love for Dom and that is what remains. The brightness of love has won out over darkness. The shadows of lost dreams and my arms aching for a hug sometimes settle on the day, but I know that the love will always win.
I am a Harrogate based artist, art restorer and art tutor.
My work is eclectic, colourful and jewel like. I focus on nature and its healing influence on my life, with the comfort of the changing colours that each season brings.
I am passionate about mixed media, using raised gesso, gold leaf, pigment powders and rhinestones.
Over Rosedale, North Yorkshire Moors
Bleak, silent and vast, seeming emptiness, swathes of course heather or brackish fern, tough and windswept.
Glorious coverings of colour in various striated hues of purple. Huge skies with stretched strata clouds and green, more fertile dips between.
The heather feels brittle and coarse, it is a tough survivor under duress and the harshest of weather, and it continues. Resilient even when torched it revives and new growth comes. My bereavement needed this survival quality, certainly at first and then in later life those learned qualities were very useful at other turns in fortune for myself and other people I met.
In the month of August, the moors turn into glorious swathes of mass colour, beautiful stretches of various purples, turning into golds in the autumn. A vastness of hues across the horizon. All this from individual spikes each with many tiny flowers. You could say that I have flowered, had successes and failures along the way and I return to the stillness and the beauty of the moors every year, give thanks and receive solace.
Fountains Abbey and Snowdrops
The Abbey; feint, faded, softened with time, a ruin now. It was strong once…. Now we rely on memories.
Snowdrops; growing, perpetual, rooting. Observe their beauty, are they not fair and simple, is there not some security in knowing they will return?
When I was young I took pleasure and a fascination in nature, I felt strong and full of life, comforted with good parents. But aged 12 my lovely, attentive father died. Mother, understandably in those days, turned cold. No-one spoke, I put my head down to get on as best I could. Perhaps a small part of me became a ruin.
I had yet to learn the value of memories.
And had yet to revitalize my love of nature, to find again the sheer power of renewal and regeneration that nature shows and gives.
At Art College we studied plants and vegetation, keen observations, shapes, and sinuous rhythms, delicate and bold colours, but it was my first garden that brought thoughts of re-growth. When I retired and had time to paint, I thought seriously about what would be my subject matter. Over many years I had visited Cistercian Abbeys in this country and abroad so I could apply these interests together to look to finding flora amongst the grounds and broken stones to produce the series.
Bien a Bheither, towards Glen Coe
Too high, too far, too long a path to climb; Unreachable; Dangerous even, little cover for changing circumstances:
There are soft verges to lie down on and rest awhile; Stop and survey the views and wonder at the spans of landscape; Meet others climbing along too:
I climbed with groups; they took me on, they lead and guided me along with my faith in them and in my God, we made it to the top eventually. When loss gives immense grief and leaves you rock bottom, raising your spirits again seems too high, to hard and too long a process ahead. With my bereavement it was head down and carry on, – until how surprised one can be when eventually you look up and see how far you have come.
I did all this through school, through church, through home and just kept going. I was swept along not realizing their worth to me, a day at a time. In time I joined a walking club and the Outdoor Pursuits Programme at school taking youngsters hiking. This gave me many of life’s varied journeys and heights, tough to start but each a little less hard in time. – Now I can spend my time painting mountains rather than climbing them and rejoice in the benefits of hind sight.
The song is about the fondest memory of we travelling three, my mum my sister and I (when I was only 7 or 8 years old, sister 12). I imagined swapping the cottingley fairies of the wood we lived next to, to naughty little Cornish piskies in the wild. We travelled from West Yorkshire to Cornwall for a number of years, in the form of a Morris Minor who had plenty personality that we named ‘Henrietta’! My mum once dressed up as a musketeer for a Polperro festival and the idea of us three as adventuring musketeers kind of stuck in my imagination. We were very close, and the song symbolises our journey through life together, forever, with a lot of love. The song was written during lockdown, but was so incredibly rewarding and healing during a difficult time. The song was written by Ben Buddy Slack and Stephanie Ingham: Ben on guitar, Stephanie Ingham and Caroline Huff on vocals, and the beautiful Jess Baker on harmonies.
The Sorrowful Mysteries are a series of five prints based on the stages of grief, as suggested by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross. They are part of a larger body of work began over fifteen years ago, when I started to notice more public outpourings of grief in the form of flower votives left by the side of a road. It felt that people were not being given the opportunity to mourn their sadness and were finding their own ways to share this with others around them, even the stranger in a passing car: that maybe our modern world still had one taboo, which was death. Since then, the project has expanded to be an exploration of lament and the need to mourn that which is wrong in society generally; not only the passing and back story of those we love, but also the death of those who remain unnoticed and unaccounted for, the death of our planet, the death of community, the death of care, the death of justice.
Long before covid hit, mental health issues were already on the rise, our health service was stretched to breaking point, poverty increasing, our communities fragmented. If anything, the pandemic has offered a counter story of hope in the prevailing spirit of humanity against all odds, including the injustices of the world we live in.
These prints were part of an exhibition at Dye House Gallery Bradford. To see more visit Shaeron’s website.
If you would like to order a copy of these prints, please contact Shaeron – [email protected]
Shaeron Caton Rose
My name is Diane Shillito and I am a process artist, who lives in Leeds. What’s that you may ask? Well I really have a deep curiosity for how things unfold, evolve and change over time. Grief and loss are an example where everything changes yet the emotional journey, whilst often painful, can bring about catharsis. My own experiences led to a continually evolving creative practice, in partnership with my garden, that encapsulates my grief, loss and search for belonging. Yet it is, in many ways, a celebratory whispering of being one with this planet, earth, and what lies beyond by planting heartseeds.
These images are layer one, called ‘What Lay Beneath’. Images of slowly unfolding decay of plants from my garden. Each image represents a different day during the process over 100 days. This process then evolved into layer two, an installation ‘The Garden of Lost and Found’ involving images, fabrics and a greenhouse. This is now itself evolving into layer 3, through process, into a kimono performance, as time unfolds.
Instagram – @dianeshillito @myheartseeds
Contact: [email protected]
It took me a long time – almost a decade – to start acknowledging the loss of my brother when we were children. I had tried to grapple my way back to some sort of normality and block out the reality of what had happened. Partly because I wanted to be a normal teenager and felt embarrassed by my loss, and partly because it was simply too painful to bare. While this had worked to an extent, the grief found ways to manifest in other areas of my life, and it came to a point where I couldn’t turn my head anymore. I had to address it, and I’m glad I did. The more I opened myself to my grief – to really listen to it and feel all the complexities is revealed – the lighter I felt. Yes, it was challenging and painful at times, but it also bought me closer to who I really am and allowed me to build more authentic connections with others and the world around me.
I find writing and creating art helps me release emotions and articulate my experience. I often come back to the metaphor of a beach. It felt like, all those years ago, I had been shipwrecked, lost everything, and arrived, cold and wet in a completely alien landscape. With time and support, I have learnt to navigate this new shore and discovered not only what I need to survive, but to thrive and reconnect to the joy of living.
Anna May is founder of The Student Grief Network
I believe that we are all connected, like the leaves of a gigantic tree; when we leave this world, our spirit withdraws back into the trunk of the tree, so instead of disappearing, it becomes more accessible to everyone. People do different things to tap into that feeling of connection. Some go to church, others meditate, and some find it through the arts. One of the ways I feel more connected is to spend time with nature.
Throughout my son’s journey, I practised Tai Chi and meditation in the local woods. That daily habit gave me the space to process everything that was going on while strengthening my connection with “God”. It provided me with a refuge. My son had always dismissed the idea of “God” – at least, that’s what he would say to me – but when I told him I’d find him in the forest, he welcomed it.
Once he had completed his physical journey, the poem started germinating subconsciously, and poetic words and phrases started revealing themselves to me until I knew it was time to write. I hope that others can relate to it, even if their vehicle for connection is something other than the forest.
Photograph by Leon Morrison: a lone swan at New Miller Dam in Wakefield, West Yorkshire.
Cathy wrote this song to in memory of her father, Benedict Abakpa Ameh (1951-2021).
This poem wrote itself. It is an expression of the frustration I felt as my eldest son was dying of brain cancer. The roller coaster ride was coming to an end, and we all had to face the inevitable. Anyone who has experienced, or is experiencing, terminal illness will relate with the myriad of feelings that come with it – anger, frustration, fear, the sense of injustice, confusion, grief; none of it adds up. How could all of that be expressed through one poem?
When my attention turned to cancer itself – not God, not my feelings about what was happening, not my son, not the other themes surrounding cancer – the words presented themselves. It wasn’t a conscious decision but by not mentioning it by name, I don’t pay it any attention. Cancer is one of many uninvited guests that storm into our lives and cause misery. Even when it feels as though we are beaten, we can still hold on to defiance and take strength from that.
Photograph by Martin Morrison: Pugneys Country Park taken from the top of Sandal Castle in Wakefield, West Yorkshire.
I am a Yorkshire Impressionist Artist working and teaching in my studio in Knaresborough. I specialise in semi abstract acrylics. I paint with bits of plastic cut to various sizes instead of using brushes. This gives me textures unique to the style. I like to work out how much of a view I can leave out and still recognise it. That is my inspiration.
This painting of the Blue Viaduct was inspired by the questions I had following my dad’s passing in 2019. It became the focal point for many paintings as the light beyond the bridge opens questions to what happens after a life is over and a reminder that we are all going down stream without a definite idea of what is in store in our future. Looking through the arch is a glimpse of that. Clients who buy my viaduct paintings always mention that they are drawn beyond the bridge into the distance and it brings up questions for them too.
Rebecca Scott Davis
I took up sewing regularly as part of my way of coping in lockdown. “Make Time To Listen” is made from the corduroy of some much-loved trousers and inspired by Japanese sewing and mending techniques – Sashiko and Boro – which I began to work on as the anniversary of losing a friend to suicide was approaching. I was inspired by speaking to Jonathan Parker who leads Man About Town, a project that works with men at a high risk of suicide supporting them to engage with a wider community who told me “It’s good to talk but it’s great to listen.
I wanted to capture the busy, noisy nature of life, the many worries and things to think about and also the need for space, for quiet, for listening to yourself, for taking a moment to be in the present moment, to make time for the people you love. The sewing took quite a time to make and so it travelled around with me everyday, coming along to work, to visit friends, on shopping trips; acting as a daily reminder to tend to myself and my relationships and it felt like it helped me through a difficult time.
Geraldine Montgomerie is an artist, writer and charity worker interested in how arts can benefit health.
This new series of work has co-incidentally been named “Circulus Plenus” (Full Circle in Latin). This particular piece chosen to be exhibited in this Exhibition is “Circulus Plenus 1” is the first piece Andi created in response to a difficult period in her life following the death of both her parents in quick succession. Andi was able to explore her grief and emotions through her love of painting. She experienced a new freedom with paint and scale.
“Circulus Plenus 1” is available an as Original framed piece for £1750 or as a Limited Edition print of 25 in A1 size., framed for £550. The Artists new website is currently under construction but you can browse the Exhibition History.
Andi Robinson is a an Artist who came to the Profession later in life following a successful career as a Personal Injury Solicitor
After losing my Grandad in 2019 I wanted to create a piece of work that focused on my relationship with mortality, grief, and nature. The ever-changing transformation of life from birth, through growth until we disappear, leaving only traces of what once was.
‘Traces’ is also available as a photobook which is for sale for just £10. Contact Jodie if interested.
The narrative for the Dancing Steve Out of Life is as follows – I had never lost someone I loved before, and could not believe he would leave me. I had begun the paintings for the A Graceful Death exhibition as my partner Steve faded away from this life with his cancer, but I could not accept he would actually die. This painting tells another story. Here, I dance with Steve into the future, but at some point I knew he would have to peel off, and go on alone. On a deeper level, I knew and accepted what would happen. I knew I would have to let him go. This painting is for all of us who have to dance someone out of this life, we go so far, and no further. We do the best we can, and our loved one must finish the journey alone. We have to let them go. And it breaks our hearts at the time.
Antonia Rolls is a doula, artist, author and creator of A Graceful Death videos.
The narrative for the Alone painting is as follows – this painting is one of three showing the loneliness of bereavement. I am sitting here with my eyes red from crying, my expression sad and lost. Next to me is an empty chair, where Steve used to sit, and all that I have left of him now are his slippers. I feel empty, and alone, and his slippers have the imprint of his feet still in them. This is a painting about the simplicity of loss, and when the tears stop, we just sit.
Antonia Rolls is a doula, artist, author and creator of A Graceful Death videos.
My dad passed away in January and was cared for by Full circle funerals… he had a passion for art and we would often walk around the Tate galleries in St Ives Cornwall, on our yearly holidays, making memories spending “Daddy and daughter time” together as he used to say… He taught me how to sew after starting his career in upholstery and therefore one of my final promises to him was that I would find my passion again and make something from a pattern… little did we know that this would span into me starting my own small business in his legacy. I also created this little resin piece out of his funeral flowers which we like to look at as his “tree of life” with the way some of the flowers have floated towards the top! Creating has really helped me in my grief, especially knowing that its a trait I have got from my dad 💖
Lily & Ella Simpson
The poem came several months after Chris died. It really summed up his absence in those sleeping hours at night. The images are from my making use of the the beautiful flowers we received from friends and family at that time. I was ‘laying them out’ to make a botanical print. However the process didn’t turn out as expected, as can often be the case with natural dyeing. Yet something unexpected and interesting did come out of it. It was illuminating and appeared otherworldly. What better metaphor for grief.
Diane has an Exhibition Installation – ‘Garden of Lost and Found’ opening on 7pm Tuesday 7th September 2021 at Left Bank, Cardigan Road, Leeds, LS6 1LJ
These dream catchers were created as part of the “Mindfulness for Loss” day at Rossmoor Park by members of the public. The idea was to create something that could capture the emotions that arise in different parts of us when affected by grief and loss. Sometimes these feelings may be contradictory emotions, but this art project was created to help recognise that this is normal and absolutely ok, and also to highlight the sense of not always being alone in grief, and the potential for connection through shared experience. This workshop was facilitated by Liz Calvert counselling and psychotherapy and creative Earth education.
David & Bev Harnett
After the death of my wife, Joy, I kept (and continue to keep) a daily doodle diary that charted my journey through the grieving process. I found that drawing what I was feeling helped me to work through the emotions and it became a form of ’self counselling’. She remains close to me through the drawings, as I often imagine her reactions to certain events and include her in the image.
I wrote this poem to deal with my grief when my Mom passed. It tells the story of me returning back to the house when the funeral and wake is over and it’s just me. I knew the house would be empty, but for some reason I expected there to be the smell of food in the kitchen or my mom to still be in her PJ’s watching movies far too late into the afternoon. But in the silence I realise that I have no regrets, I gave all my love to my Mom while I could and I left nothing in that house behind.
Following the funeral of my Grandad, I took one of the white roses out of the coffin display and took this photo as I knew, unlike the flower itself, the photo would last forever.
I wrote this whilst on a flight to Croatia in May 2019, a few months after a very good friend lost their mum very suddenly. These were my reflections based on conversations we shared over many hours.
The Jackson & McSharry Families
Coronavirus, Lockdown and loss. This last year has been extremely difficult for everyone across the world grieving their own losses or comforting those who have lost. This painting was done as a symbol of ‘The Circle of Life’ and when someone or something dies new life has been given else where and is nature’s way of taking and giving back life to earth. It symbolizes the universe being sacred and divine.
For me, Lisa’s photograph doesn’t need any words. The heart shaped hole in ourselves says everything.
Paul Van Heeswyk
Bea’s Nain (Welsh grandma) died before she was born. Because we still talk about her a lot (and cook recipes written in her handwriting all the time), Bea feels a strong connection to her.
In this picture Bea shares how she feels about her grandma.
Beatrice aged 8
During a time when I was going through a deep loss, I came across this statue on a very dark & atmospheric day.
The mood of the woman looking out awaiting someone’s return, along with the location and storm clouds really resonated with me. Luckily, I had my camera with me and was able to capture it all.
This mosaic was made in response to the death of Emma Liddle, who died suddenly at the age of 39 leaving a husband and two small children. It was commissioned by her friends and family who went to considerable lengths to find items for inclusion that were relevant to Emma’s life. The items include buttons from her favourite coat, a toy shark to represent her love of the film Jaws, broken orange pottery because she had a fondness for Iron Bru, red things to stand for her support for the Labour Party, dried heather from Aberdeenshire where she was born and brought up, a coin from the year of her birth and parts of a toy played with by her sons.
I’d love to share a piece I did for my sister, Amy. She died when she was 10 and was buried with her half of our friendship necklace that was placed around her favourite teddy bear. When I moved in with my partner I wanted to create a memorial wall in our home to remember our loved ones.
I now offer to create unique hand-painted memorial artwork, turning feelings and memories into personal designs.
Whether it be the loss of a family member or a beloved pet, a lock of hair or ashes keepsake can bring some comfort that there is a part of them still with you. These can be discreet pieces, so only you know what the piece conceals, or they can be on show. I did my first piece for a friend of mine who lost their horse.