Finding Our Roots: The Landscape of Belonging in Art

Over the last few months life has taken me down some unexpected paths. I’ve been facing down old fears around water and stepping into the unknown on new coastal walks. Alongside this I have been exploring my own inner landscape for further clarity on what it is I am currently searching for in my art.

Whenever I take a step forward as an artist whether that is a new technique I want to explore or a new body of work I am drawn to create, there is also a quiet pull backward. It is driven by a need to understand where I came from, and why certain places and subjects demand my attention over and over again.

Recently, I’ve been thinking a lot about the word belonging.

When I look back at my completed paintings, the birds, the sweeping coast at the edge of the Mournes, the figures walking side by side, and the quiet presence of trees, I realise I haven't just been painting random views of nature. I’ve been mapping my own roots.

Growing up on a farm, the land wasn't just a backdrop or a pretty view; it was a living, breathing entity that dictated the rhythm of daily life, hard work, and survival. But it was also a place of immense intimacy.

Our family home was surrounded by a large garden, brimming with trees and an abundance of birds. That was my first world. It’s where I learned to observe the natural world quietly, to notice the small details, and to find a deep, foundational sense of safety.

In a farming family, days off were rare and precious. Our occasional excursions to the local coast and mountains weren't just weekend day trips; they were monumental events.

I remember the sheer joy of them, the vastness of the horizon, the rush of freedom, and the deep, collective family bonding away from the relentless work of the farm. Those landscapes were stamped into my memory as spaces of liberation and connection.

We spend so much of our lives searching for a sense of place, trying to figure out where we fit. But looking back, I realise that our sense of belonging is often built long before we even have the words for it. It is written into the geography of our childhoods, in the shade of a familiar tree, the call of a bird, and the distant blue line of a mountain we looked out toward daily.

As I prepare for my upcoming exhibition and think about future work, this will be the heart of what I am exploring: the bonds that connect us to the land, to nature, and to one another.

Over the next few months, I want to pull at these threads a little more – what is it that creates a sense of belonging within us, what does a sense of belonging actually feel like, how important is it to our ongoing wellbeing and how do we ensure we continue to experience it as we age.

Until then, I’d love to know: Where is the place that first made you feel like you belonged?

Explore some of the paintings inspired by the places I feel connected to.