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The distaff side of my family has its routes in Hastings Old Town, not just where me, as an ovum, starting life in my grandmother’s womb, but five generations of mothers, sewing and mending to make ends meet. This is where I made my first creative mark on the landscape, the gasping breath of a newborn baby. We all engaged in textiles in some way. Textiles in one form or another has always meant a roof over our head and food on the plate. When there was spare time my mother would paint watercolour landscapes, I watched her create ephemeral images of Rye Harbour and longed to be able to use her paints. I became ill; Fine pens echoed needles, I began to draw-the creative act became a mania; a non-verbal obsession that replaced everyday chores, social interaction and career. WHY? It was related to life; my first breath; my first creative response to the world and the will to survive. During this time I was outside of mainstream society, I created in order to have a conversation with myself. The conversation evolved until images and I agreed that ‘I am an artist’! In the Autumn of 2016, a stroke of luck and I won a competition for a three day watercolour course. I embarked with my own watercolours and those of my mother in the bottom of my bag. Her paints came with me each day but I did not use them. Although we have similiarities I am an individual and I have to create my own style in what I do. However, I always seem to return to the act of repitition, either that of drawing circles or crochet.