Sandscapes
I launched my art career with a solo exhibition at Montague Gallery in the summer of 2025, with a series of paintings inspired by Worthing beach at low tide, plus photographs recording the erosion of wooden sea defences. The paintings are sandscapes rather than seascapes as the focus is the expanse of sand revealed with the tide goes out completely.
Reaching the age of 66 was a major turning point for me. I was disappointed in myself for not creating the artistic life I'd always dreamed of and for wasting so much time. I thought it was too late to do anything about it. Being an artist is who I am and I'm not always conscious of my motivation. When I started the sandscape series, I thought I was painting Worthing beach simply because I loved the way it looked. When the whole body of work was finished, I realised that it was an expression of grief over the loss of my sister Kath, who died in 2020 at the age of 66. It was the time of Covid so lockdown restrictions prevented a funeral. About six months later, we went out in a small boat and scattered her ashes in the sea, according to her wishes. We had done the same when my dad died nearly thirty years earlier. In the months leading up to the exhibition at Montague Gallery, I decided to add one more painting to the series, of my family having fun at the beach. It was a celebration of my sister's life.
My sisters and I spent long summer days on the beach. We lived at the Egremont pub and strolled down the road in our swimsuits and ponchos, heading for our beach at Splash Point, opposite the rowing club. By the beach, there was a telescope so you could get a closer view of Brighton and the Seven Sisters, and a defunct WW2 sea mine. The beach was several feet below the level of the prom so we had to jump down. Then we would throw an old tar-stained blanket onto the pebbles and lie there for hours. Sometimes, parts of the beach were covered in rank-smelling seaweed but we learned to ignore it. Dad very occasionally joined us for a brief swim when the tide was in, he looked quite comical in his half wet-suit, flippers and snorkel. My younger sister used to run barefoot across the pebbles and dive into the sea from the breakwater to join him for some underwater swimming. I was never brave enough for that. The beach was unique in its sea defences: as well as the familiar timber groynes that reached from the pebbles to the sands, there was a massive sloping wooden barrier going across the beach, called a revetment, to protect the beach from the power of the sea. When the weather was stormy and the tide was high, waves splashed up against the revetment (hence Splash Point) and I can remember a time when the sea came halfway up Warwick Road, flooding the basements of the houses. All that was a lifetime ago and our family beach has changed beyond all recognition. The revetment was replaced with huge boulders and the pebble beach is now level with the prom, which has been transformed with trees, benches and a fountain. That’s why I called this painting The Lost Beach. I did two more paintings in this series, calling them Old Splash Point and Where We Played.
Work in progress The Lost Beach Old Splash Point Where We Played
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