
In My Happy Place



So I said I would be back to share with you my current visual journal. Coming into the mix at the end of May after a weeks of zero colour, my soul and creativity were craving colour and space. A large space.

So I went back to Flying Tiger and purchased the A3 sketchbook I failed to purchase a couple of weeks before. The paper inside is creamy and reminds me of sugar paper from primary school. It’s a rough and ready kind of texture, rustic and low maintenance. Not too high quality to raise the fear levels of making mistakes or not being quite so perfect.

I’m been enjoying preparing the pages with colour. Throughout my day, I have the journal laid out on the table in the corner of my bedroom and when I walk past, I choose 2, 3 or 4 colours from my collection of little bottles of acrylic paint and make generous dollops on the page.

Then I bring out my trusted old faithful, the disused bank card and smear that paint around. This calms my nerves, stills the worries and brings me joy. I love how the different combinations of paint play out together on the page. It’s a true collaboration.

I know this journal is far too big to be carrying around with me as I go about my business outside: sea swims, coffee meets, trip to London at the moment. But still I carry it with me, enjoying tucking it under my arm or carrying it pressed against my chest.

Sometimes, as happened today, stray streams of paint, still wet and sticky, collect within the seams and edges of the pages, transferring to my fingers, smearing on my coat and t-shirt. Today, it was bright turquoise and sandy brown that ended up on my hands and clothes by the time I reached the metro station to get to Newcastle Central Station. I really couldn’t be annoyed as it goes with the territory. You play with paint and you’re bound to make a mess.

But I don’t care because I feel and know in my heart and gut that I’m making a whole heap of mess within my visual journal because that’s how I make sense, make joy, make a way for me to navigate through this world on my own terms.
I showed you this handmade journal in May. It was supposed to be on sale in an Etsy store. Well the best laid plans and all.
I started using it on my return from Iceland and completed using it, that is my energy was called elsewhere before the end of May.
Can’t wait to show you what I’m working in now. But until then here’s the completed journal.
A while ago, I got the idea into my head to make junk journals to sell on Etsy. I got a variety of papers and cardboards and ephemera together to make them and enjoyed the process.
While decluttering last month, I found my stash of handmade junk journals. I’d sold none. I’m not even sure if I’d put them up for sell. Sometimes as a creative, you can have these ideas and instigate them only to fall short of the finish line. Something else might take your attention away, something more shiny or you could allow fear and doubt to step in and paralysis the process from moving any further.
I’m not sure what happened with these junk journals but I felt the urge to just use them on my return from Iceland.
I need something that’s self contained and discreet as I put myself back together after the time away. I felt free and unhurried and playful while away. Now back I have to slip back into responsibilities and worries and demands from others, and to be honest it’s a rough textured blanket against my skin at the moment.
I’m still remembering and wanting to be with the smooth soft caresses of Iceland. And dream into the landscape.
So maybe keeping the bar low. Just making sure I turn up to the page daily and working out the feelings and kinks is enough right now.
Almost like beginning again. Each new day is day one. No pressure and no comparisons just be. I feel attempting this in a clean journal, a clean slate is doable at the moment.
Hence cracking open my homemade junk journal and just allowing whatever needs to turn up, turn up.

I thought about it when I wrote the date in my visual journal and then proceeded to forget about it. I never gave it another thought, until now when thinking what I was going to share today, here on this blog.
10 years is a long time. 10 years I didn’t think I’d have, survive never mind thrive. 10 years and I’m here, living my life on my own terms. Fugitively.
I walked right smack into lushness today. If not with the trees, in Iceland, the place that was once devoid of trees. Then it was visiting Perlan and experiencing the wonders of Iceland; volcanoes, ice caves, geyser and northern lights.
It brought immense joy to walk around Perlan and feed my inner child. There were many times when I was close to tears because of the feelings of pleasure and joy I experienced through learning new things and being wowed by nature.
It was a good day. I’m grateful for being here, 10 years on, when really I was never meant to survive the attempt to ruin me. But here I am, and still I rise.


The last time I was in Iceland was June 2018. I was here running a creative retreat for women. On the Thursday of the week away, I facilitated a workshop at Reykjavik Museum of Photography. Probably shared what I created during that session on here somewhere. I know it included my mum and a glacier.
It was an amazing retreat, with everything provided for the participants. Even brought in my friend Sarah as the caterer. It was a week that had great highs and achievements with the costs being me exhausted and in debt.
I’ve always wanted to return to Iceland since then but a global pandemic, divorce and financial insecure got in the way. Until, I really got sick of saying, one day, and just booked the flight back in September 2024 and making sure it happened.
Always on a shoestring, but still doing it because I’m worth it, I’m staying in Reykjavik for the week. Staying in a hostel again and watching my budget. But it’s good to be back.

My first time to Iceland was 2016, the year after the shit hit the fan experience which will be 10 years ago tomorrow.
It was standing in this photography museum that I began to see myself again as a creative. Iceland helped me heal after that episode in my life and it was here that I made a promise to get my work within this space. With the women’s retreat I achieved that dream, not only working here but also sharing my words within the space.
Things don’t happen easily. There needs to be a vision and the hard work behind it. I’m not afraid of hard work. I’m more afraid of having dreams and never allowing them to come true. Because of outside barriers and obstacles I raise up within.
I came to Iceland a ruined woman. But I still had the strength of character and belief in self to grow and take risks and invest in myself.
Investing in myself is never wasted. I’m here for a week, a week that promises rain, wind and dropped temperatures. I could allow it to stop play. But I won’t. I’m here and I’m here to fill my pot by any means necessary.





I’m keeping my journals all in one place this year as I attempt to mark how many or how much I create and play and mark each day of 2025. And of course I missed my single week/day handmade journals that I’ve shared here and here. And of course I’ve moved onto another journal since my return from Paris. But this post is a marker.It’s a start in visually representing my visual journaling of 2025.

It makes a difference when we’ve got the light. And it’s warm with it.
I’m in a three day streak of getting into the sea, straight after the school run. The tide has been in too. Which I love.
I love it when the bay is full to the brim with sea. I don’t have to walk far before I meet the water.
I give thanks when I greet the sea. Because she’s always there for me. Not judging me. Not rejecting me. Just welcoming me.
In the past, the sea has healed me again and again. The first time of any significance was when I miscarried our second child, back in 2009. We moved to the coast soon after as I needed to heal.
And to be healed is not a one time thing. Healing is a life long process. Sometimes I’m locked into my healing journey and sometimes I veer off course and need something or someone to remind me to get back into the practice. The practice of healing.
So with a new month comes a renewal. And this is the time of year to renew. Spring is well and truly with us now. And the blossom may be receding and just pink petals on the wind, or white even. But I’m catching hints of bluebells.
So my list of habits and actions to lean into for a May of Healing includes:
Have you ever been camping?
This weekend saw me away from home at The Outdoor Connections weekend. It’s a weekend away for grassroots groups who are working to diversify the outdoors. Groups and organisations who connect with grassroots communities to offer opportunities outdoors with nature.
So Earth Sea Love CIC, me as Creative Director, was invited along to take part. And I went with Kiwi, my converted campervan, with the hope of camping out on the site of the youth hostel where everything was taking place.
That didn’t go plan as sleeping in my campervan wasn’t allowed on site for what reason I do not know. So each evening, I left the group to try and find a park up for the night.

I’m not complaining though as I found some lush spots to park up and rest.
Now I have returned home, I’m still a bit out of sorts. Not quite landed yet after my time away. So a way for me to get grounded is to make another handmade journal to use for my daily pages moving forward.
Well no sooner than I’d finished it, yesterday evening, that it’s full today. All I can say is that I must have had a lot to process. I know I did use it as my next to-do list after my last journal was used for the same practice. And it’s just helps me get things straight. Clear the decks and start again. Begin to work my way through the things that need to be done.