Mrs. Helichrysum

Your works often feature striped stockings and birds or fish. What do these recurring motifs represent to you?

The birds are symbols of truth, a reminder to hold loosely to the things that try to tie us down: the glitter, the trimmings, the pressure to fit into neat shapes. The fish represent society, always nudging, always pulling, encouraging, manipulating us to swim along without asking where or why. & then there’s Mrs. H, with her striped stockings. It is her clear signature style so that when she appears in a painting, the viewer knows instantly: that’s her. Unmistakably herself.

How has growing up on a remote farm in Rhodes shaped your artistic voice?

Oh, Rhodes! That sweet little bubble of childhood bliss. I think of it almost daily, it shaped my artistic voice in more ways than I can count. I was a wild, barefoot little thing (by choice, of course), not having much, but feeling rich beyond measure, the farm was my kingdom, and I lived in it fully, wandering off on imaginative adventures that no one could interrupt. We grew up surrounded by books, and my mother, ever the eccentric, saw the artist in me from the start. My parents nurtured it, gently and insistently, always encouraging me to draw, to make, to dream. Because a math whiz? That I was most certainly not. I quietly observed the local artists, learning from them without them even knowing, after all, I sat next to their children in school. I suppose my whole upbringing gave me something precious: room. Room to dream, to simply be, and slowly, to become. There were no city voices pushing me toward a path I didn’t choose. Just the stillness of the land, the quiet freedom of the mountains, and a life that let me grow into myself, organically.

What kind of emotional response do you hope your art stirs in the viewer?

Mrs. Helichrysum is no cookie-cutter fairytale character. She’s a little controversial. She has a grand snozzle, befriends the forgotten, and doesn’t quite fit the mould, and that’s exactly the point. I hope my art offers a soft place to land, for child or grown-up alike. There are layers tucked into every piece I paint. Gentle ones, sharp ones, thoughtful ones, memories (good and bad), it’s meant to stir something, to make you pause, maybe even see yourself in her shoes. Because Mrs. H becomes who the heart needs her to be: a mother, a sister, a dear friend. To me, she is both stability and freedom. Over the past few years, she became my voice when I didn’t quite know how to use my own.

You mentioned that your art is often accompanied by words. How do you approach the connection between text and image?

My paintings almost always carry words. It feels like a well-choreographed dance, one rarely moves without the other. The text is often poetic, sometimes figurative. Mrs. H is the prominent figure I almost always paint (her striped stockings gives her away) and the words become hers too, as if she herself is sharing the phrase, the poem, the memory… Just like that, the text and the painting grow together, until they belong to one another, like pages from the same story.

How has moving to Dubai influenced your art and creative process?

Dubai has shaped my artistic voice in ways I never quite expected. It’s a place rich in diversity, and I’ve come to truly love that. I’ll admit, part of me still longs for a window that opens onto mountains and fields, but the people here, their warmth and stories, make up for it. As an absolute introvert, this city has gently nudged me out of my shell, helping me grow in ways only a bustling place like this can. I’m grateful for the quiet corners of green it holds, for the unexpected calm in the chaos, and for the opportunities it’s placed in front of me. In many ways, Dubai has taught my voice to be a little bolder.

What role does nature—both South African and Emirati—play in your work today?

Nature plays a quiet but powerful role in my work. The wild landscapes of South Africa shaped my imagination, open skies, farm stillness, and earthy textures still live in the way I create. In contrast, the UAE has taught me to find beauty in subtler, more unexpected places; desert light, hidden gardens, the people and the calm of curated spaces. Together, they’ve helped me balance boldness and softness, grounding my work in both memory and the present.

As a self-taught artist, what has your learning process looked like over the past ten years?

Oh, it’s been a journey drenched in tears, self-doubt, and quiet comparisons, especially to those with impressive titles and clear career paths. But over time, I realised, there’s room for people like me too. An artist… Once I embraced that, I began to create more freely. I’ve experimented with different mediums, explored various styles, and studied the work of illustrators and artists I admire. But mostly, I just sat down and drew, again and again, until something felt worthy enough to share. Some of the most beautiful things happen in the waiting, in the grinding no one sees. I’m not formally trained, and yet, Mrs. H exists. Not despite that, but maybe even because of it.