There is something rather wonderful about being a beginner. Not knowing exactly what you are doing. Making mistakes. Asking questions. Discovering that something you thought would be simple is actually quite difficult. When we are young, beginning things is expected of us. We learn, experiment, change our minds and try again. But somewhere along the way, we begin to believe that we should have everything worked out. We become experienced. Established. Sensible. And perhaps a little reluctant to start something that might make us feel uncertain.

I have been questioning that idea. Because the older I become, the more I realise how much there still is to discover.

I have been thinking about ordinary days. Not holidays, celebrations or the occasional extraordinary moment, but the days in between. The ones that begin with making coffee, opening the curtains and looking outside to see what the weather is doing. The days when nothing particularly remarkable happens.

For much of our lives, we seem to be encouraged to look forward to something. The weekend. The next holiday. A new house. A different job. The moment when we finally have enough time, enough money or enough freedom to live as we would like.

There comes a point when you begin to realise that the life you have built and the life you want are not necessarily the same thing. It doesn't always happen dramatically. Sometimes it is simply a quiet feeling that becomes harder to ignore. A sense that your days are too full of things that don't matter enough. That there isn't enough time for the things that do. That perhaps you have spent many years becoming very good at living the life that was expected of you, without stopping often enough to ask whether it is still the life you want.

Discover Muta, an original silver cat oil painting by SG-Art, measuring 180 × 120 cm. Available for £5,400 through the Society of Feline Artists online exhibition, 17 October–15 November 2026.

17 October – 15 November 2026

This autumn, I am delighted to be exhibiting Yuki with the Society of Feline Artists (S.O.F.A.), in its Winter Exhibition from 17 October to 15 November 2026.

It feels particularly special to see Yuki included in an exhibition devoted entirely to feline art. S.O.F.A. has been bringing together artists who share a love of cats and a passion for representing them in art since 1994, with artists working across a wide range of media and styles.

A quiet look inside the SG-Art studio and the process behind painting: composition, colour, close-up figures, restraint and learning how to see.

A beautiful home does not need to feel perfect. Discover how light, texture, natural materials, meaningful objects and art can create a calm, refined home that feels genuinely lived in.

Why paint close-up? SG explores her Close-Up Figures series, painting Yuki and Muta, and the intimacy of bringing a subject closer so we can truly look.

Some paintings begin with an idea. Others begin with a feeling. Muta began with a photograph.

It was not simply a photograph of a cat that made me want to paint him. There was something in his expression, his stillness and the particular quality of his face that stayed with me. The longer I looked at the image, the more I began to see beyond the subject itself, the structure of the face, the changing silver tones of the coat, the quietness in his expression. I knew almost immediately that I wanted to paint him very large.

There was a time when I thought of art as something that happened in a particular place. In a studio. On a canvas. With brushes laid out beside a palette, and perhaps a few quiet hours in which to disappear from the rest of the world. I no longer see it that way.

For me, art has become inseparable from the way I look at everything else, the light falling across a room, the shape of an old wooden table, the changing colours of a garden, the character in a cat's eyes, the texture of linen, the imperfect edge of a handmade bowl. Art is not simply something I make. It is a way of seeing.

"The longer I paint, the more I realise that art is less about learning how to paint, and more about learning how to see."

There are days in the studio when everything seems to flow. The colours find one another almost effortlessly. A brushstroke lands exactly where it should. The painting quietly begins to breathe. Then there are other days. Days when nothing quite feels right. When I wipe away as much paint as I add. When I spend an hour adjusting something that no one else might ever notice. This painting of Yuki has been one of those teachers. Not because it is particularly difficult, although it certainly has its challenges, but because it refuses to let me rush.

"Every painting begins with a conversation. Sometimes that conversation is with a place. Sometimes it is with the changing light. And sometimes it begins with a pair of quiet, watchful eyes."

Welcome to The Creative Freedom Diary.

This diary is a place where I'd like to share not only my finished paintings but also the thoughts, discoveries and quiet moments that happen along the way. Painting is rarely a straight path. It is full of uncertainty, experimentation, small breakthroughs and lessons that reveal themselves one brushstroke at a time.

I hope you'll enjoy stepping into my studio and following the journey with me.