My dance with the earth spirals deeper every moon:
weaving labyrinths on the beach;
creating and healing using image, word and clay;
journeying between the worlds.

My story is one of creative recovery. My childhood and education convinced me that I couldn't do art and that I had nothing worth saying. I started with other peoples' words, pretending that they were my own. When I made my first mask, it came out much better than I could ever have hoped, not being any good at art. I put one on and I was hooked. The more I made, the more I enjoyed the feel of clay between my fingers and learning about the aspects of myself and my inner world that each mask revealed to me. I shared this process in workshops and performances with my dance company. I also made masks of the elements, the zodiac, spirits, dragons and goddesses.

I then began to explore the world of ceramic sculpture. I was adding bodies to the masks and I began to inhabit my own body more fully. I apprenticed myself to the mediaeval Síla-na-gig sculptors, carving this ancient goddess of the British Isles out of clay. She spoke to me through the clay. I began to see her everywhere: in landforms, trees, labyrinths. I learned a new dance. I danced with the earth using my camera. I made art in and on the land. I wove labyrinths in sand and clay and spiralled deeper.

It is a pleasure to use art as a service. I have made masks on request of power animals and spirit helpers. I felt honoured when my friend asked me to make a mould of her pregnant belly and to decorate it as a gift for the baby. I would also like to make handmade, ecologically friendly personalised funeral urns and coffins.

I am inspired by art that holds movement in its stillness, which invites touch, that excites, that provokes and that asks us to look within. I aim to make art that does this. It is clear to me that the earth dances, that I dance with her and that my work is a witness to these dances.