Seeing What Others Might Pass By​

My connection with nature is not a passing interest. It is closer to an obsession.

I photograph it constantly. The changing light across a field, the shape of a tree against the sky, sea-worn textures, curling leaves, wild flowers growing where they were not planted, and tiny details that might disappear by the following day.

I notice things.

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I listen closely to birds and have always felt an instinctive connection with them. I recognise their calls, answer them, watch their patterns and find comfort in their presence. A robin appearing at the right moment can feel like far more than a robin. Birdsong can change the whole atmosphere of a day.

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Trees hold a similar place in my heart. I am fascinated by their form, their movement and their resilience. Their roots reach deeply into the earth while their branches stretch towards the light. They carry seasons, scars and history, yet continue to grow.

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Nature feels alive to me in a way that can be difficult to explain without sounding a little eccentric, although I have learned to embrace that too.

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I grew up loving Enid Blyton and never completely lost the inner child who could imagine another world hidden among trees, flowers and woodland paths. A part of me still looks for fairies in the garden, although through my faith I might now call them angels, little reminders of light, goodness and the sacredness within creation.

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Perhaps it is imagination. Perhaps it is faith. Perhaps the two were never supposed to be entirely separate.

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Either way, I believe there is more beauty, meaning and wonder around us than we often allow ourselves time to see.

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The Long Way Back to Art​

At school, an art teacher once told me to “jack it in”.

I did not, as it turns out. I simply took the scenic route back.

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At the time, I was intensely self-critical. If something I made did not match the picture in my head, I would tear it up or abandon it. What looked like a lack of ability was often perfectionism, frustration and a mind working in ways that did not fit neatly within the lines of a classroom.

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Little did my teacher know that artists, eccentric people and neurodivergent minds are notoriously difficult to pin down.

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The very qualities that once made me feel too much, too scattered, too sensitive or too different would later become some of my greatest strengths.

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My curiosity makes me explore. My sensitivity makes me notice. My restlessness moves me between materials, ideas and techniques. My eccentricity allows me to look at something ordinary and imagine what else it might become.

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It took me a while to realise that creativity did not need to be contained within one discipline. I did not have to choose between pottery, woodwork, restoration, collecting, photography, designing or making.

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The thread connecting them all was already there.

It was nature, story and transformation.

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Making Through the Harder Seasons​

My creative life has developed alongside some of the most difficult chapters of my personal life.

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I have known grief closely, including losing my beloved aunt to suicide, living through a major accident in 2021 and, more recently, losing my dear Papa. There have been long periods of physical pain, mental exhaustion, anxiety and upheaval. There have been times when life has felt as though it has broken apart and needed to be rebuilt, both literally and emotionally.

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I know what it is to feel mentally unwell, to lose confidence in yourself and to struggle to recognise the person you once were.

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Healing has never arrived for me in one dramatic moment. It has happened quietly and repeatedly.

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It has happened through faith.

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Through prayer when I could not find the right words. ​Through the unconditional company of animals.

​Through horses, dogs, birds, open countryside and the steadying rhythm of caring for another living thing.​

Through putting my hands into clay, sanding a piece of timber, taking a photograph, repairing something damaged, or noticing that an object somebody else had discarded still had beauty and purpose within it.

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Creativity gave me somewhere to place the feelings I could not always explain. Faith reminded me that broken does not mean worthless. Animals taught me about trust, presence and unconditional love. Nature taught me that growth is rarely neat and that even the most weathered things can carry extraordinary beauty.

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Making became more than an interest. It became a way of returning to myself.

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Naturally Rare​

Naturally Rare grew from all of this.

It is a celebration of individuality, imperfection and the beauty of things that could never be exactly repeated.

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Every piece I create is a one-off. I may work in a series or return to a particular shape, glaze, texture or idea, but each creation will always carry its own markings and character.

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Some pieces are sculptural. Some are practical. Many are deliberately open to interpretation.

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A vessel might hold flowers, brushes, candles or nothing at all. A restored object might return to its original purpose or begin an entirely new life. A piece may sit quietly in a room simply because it makes its owner feel something.

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I like that the final purpose does not always belong entirely to me. Once a piece leaves my hands, it becomes part of somebody else’s home, story and imagination.

You may also find something else accompanying a Naturally Rare piece.

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There may be a poem, a line of scripture, a prayer, a photograph or a few words explaining the association that inspired it. A bird, a person, a landscape, a memory or a moment of faith might be woven quietly into its story.

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Not every meaning will be immediately visible, and not every piece will need an explanation. Sometimes it will simply carry a feeling.

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My hope is that the things I create do more than occupy a space. I hope they bring nature closer, encourage somebody to pause, awaken a memory or offer a small reminder of hope.

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I want to share love and light through the work, without forcing either upon anyone. Sometimes that light may appear through faith and scripture. Sometimes it may be found in humour, colour, texture, imperfection or the simple joy of holding something made by hand.

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Still Becoming​

I am still learning, experimenting and evolving. I hope I always will be.

Naturally Rare is not about presenting myself as a perfectly polished artist with everything figured out. It is about making honestly, following curiosity and creating from the things that move me.

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These pieces carry the sea, shore, land and sky. They carry birdsong, trees, animals and the changing light. They carry grief, resilience, faith, humour and a little eccentricity. They carry the marks of human hands and the unpredictable influence of natural materials.

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Most of all, they are made for people who want to feel closer to nature in their homes and who recognise that the rarest kind of beauty is often the kind that was never meant to be perfect.