A quiet but colourful inheritance

Today would have been my father’s birthday, but he isn't here to celebrate it as he passed away last year. To mark the occasion I'll be planting wildflowers at the end of his much-loved garden to replenish the patch we sowed to mark his 90th birthday. I'm also sharing these reflections on how he shaped who I am, and how his influence continues to live on in my creativity.

I grew up in a home full of colour and pattern. A petrol three-piece suite teamed with rust-orange carpet and velvet curtains in our “front room” and maximalist pink, mauve, sky blue and green flowery wallpaper with pinky-lilac painted skirting boards in the hall. Sometimes clashing, always joyful.

Dad loved inventing things and showing us that imagination mattered: a bagatelle game and a dolls’ house. Even a snooker table, but he miscalculated the size of the pockets, making potting balls quite a challenge!

He taught my brother and me how to play - rolling marbles across the carpet to topple wooden towers, or aiming them through a series of white handmade tunnels with different scores written above each arch in black marker.

Dad instilled a strong work ethic early on, roping us in to help cart manure up the garden, even on New Year’s Day!

He also taught the value of growing and making - in the garden, the shed, the loft, or now, for me, in the studio. Every spring and summer we put out a handwritten sign at the end of the drive advertising tomatoes, runner beans, and sweet peas for sale, bringing a steady stream of customers from the nearby train station.

Dad encouraged creativity in practical ways too. He brought home scrap paper from work for me to draw on, I loved the shiny pieces the most. He proudly showed off my first drawings to family and friends, and later took a genuine interest in my exhibitions and other art projects.

He loved solving problems and kept meticulous records, documenting major purchases, holidays and cars from 1967 to 2024 – another quiet form of care. Always up for a challenge, he battled phone and utility companies and even my art teacher over her lack of encouragement for my creative endeavours.

Generous and kind, Dad gave freely of his time and money without fuss. I like to think some of his spirit of generosity has rubbed off on me.

Two drying racks he made from scrap wood are important fixtures in my studio. Useful, sturdy and unassuming. A gentle reminder of him whenever I'm painting.

Things he showed us. Things he shared. Things he taught me - all shaping who I am today. A colourful and quiet inheritance.

Thank you, Dad. 💜

Discover more about where my art began