I like to throw things...🏺🌊

Where Emma talks drive

Hello you delightful darlings. I’m so touched to see the new faces here as well, thank you. Your support means so very much xx

I painted this…

So, I’m painting again. Or rather, I’m wrestling the bastard who stole my dopamine back into the cupboard and slapping some paint on panels.

Let’s be absolutely clear: I’m not sticking bits of pottery onto canvas like some Pinterest craft project. I’m painting images of sea pottery fragments. Tiny, meticulous oil paintings that make people squint and go, “Oh, I thought that was an actual shard!” That’s the whole point: to give these broken pieces new life through paint.

Post-Parkinson’s diagnosis, every brushstroke is an adventure. My hand doesn’t always show up for work, which makes me feel like I’m holding a paintbrush attached to a pogo stick. But these paintings aren’t just about fighting the tremor. They’re about fighting the apathy that Parkinson’s kindly throws in as a bonus prize. The part of my brain that used to be a cheerleader is now more like a sulky teenager: “Why even bother?” But if I don’t, the disease wins. And I’m not ready to hand over my paintbox just yet.

It’s not just the physical and mental fatigue, though. It’s the creeping invisibility. The sort that comes not only from chronic illness, but from being an older woman (I’m 49). Let’s face it, society has always been a bit shit at seeing women as they age.

We’re the ones who hold it all together, often unnoticed, until we vanish behind the scenery. And Parkinson’s doesn’t help. It’s a disease that’s still largely misunderstood, especially in women, who are under-researched and misdiagnosed at alarming rates. So yeah, I’m painting fragments of crockery, but I’m also painting the bloody truth about how we’re so often left out of the frame.

These pottery fragments? They’re metaphors. They’re about survival. They’re about holding onto what’s precious, even when it’s cracked and worn by the tide. I see myself in them…still here, still functioning, even if I’m chipped and a bit sea-beaten. And painting them is my way of telling Parkinson’s to piss off for a minute, to let me focus on the beauty of what remains.

You know what helps? The shared studio. I used to be so driven I never needed external validation. I was a one-woman band of creative rocket fuel. But now? I need the clatter and chatter of people around me. It’s become a weirdly essential medicine: the visibility of others seeing me, the conversations that remind me I’m not just a diagnosis in a dusty medical file. It’s funny how you only realise how lonely Parkinson’s can be when you’re in a room full of people who aren’t. And turns out being seen matters. It’s the antidote to the grey of apathy.

Tiny oil paintings of sea pottery…each one a little prayer to the idea that we’re never really lost. We’re fragments, sure. But we’re still here.

If you’re around, come see the work. And if you’re not, just know that even when Parkinson’s is whispering “why bother?” in your ear, you can still stand up, grab the brush, and start again.

with love

E xxx

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Exhibition Details

This is being held in Scotland and I know most of you are elsewhere in the world so I am hosting an online exhibition as well…

And you are all invited! It’s totally free.

All you have to do is add your email to the list and you will have access from the 21st June until infinity! If you feel like a peek at what I’ve been up to then please follow this link :)

Your support and cheering me on really helps. Thank you 😘

Yes, I painted this