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There are words that arrive as invitations rather than plans. They do not come with strategies or timelines. They simply ask to be lived. As I step into 2026, the word given to me is “lamp”. Not a spotlight. Not a flare. Not a floodlight meant to impress or overwhelm. A lamp small enough to be tended daily. It requires attention in trimming, oil, care. It does not rush the dark away, but it does make the next step visible. Much of what will be shared here in the coming weeks

“Hello, Today I stepped back into the podcast room and as I sipped tea and chatted I realised there are some rooms I return to again and again.”

This morning I wasn’t planning to make art. I was simply cleaning my studio table. The little scraps had gathered, as they always do. A few loose threads. An empty embroidery floss label. Tiny offcuts of fabric. A business card. Wisps of black cotton tangled together. Fragments that looked like they had already served their purpose. And yet… I couldn’t throw them away. Instead, I opened my altered book. There is something deeply freeing about these pages because they ask f

“… I am going to let this Remembrance Snippet Roll unfold slowly. There will be no rushing it. I will share little pieces of it here as it grows over on my YouTube channel ~ the things I find, the things I stitch, the memories that surface and perhaps some of the stories that sit quietly behind them. A weekly remembrance. One little snippet at a time. Come join me

There’s no “The Quiet Company We Keep” podcast this week as I am looking back at the journey of episodes, so that I can build another ten conversational episodes so they continue the movement from ancestry and memory into belonging, faith, healing, rest, and the quiet wisdom of ordinary life. What I notice in the wandering of bringing my podcast to life, is that each title feels like a doorway rather than a topic and I hope you feel the same. Each episode invites reflecti

As I stared out of the window this morning, I began to wonder about the studio that I sit in everyday.

A broken piece of metal found upon ancestors land. Once discarded, weathered by rain, sun, and time, it carried no obvious value. Yet as I held it in my hands, I wondered what stories the land still remembered. And so after bringing it home, I have prepped it and started painting a wagon wheel upon its rusted surface, not as a picture of the past, but as a symbol of the lives that turned upon this country. This piece of metal, rubbish to some has brought thought and memory of

I want to offer you a quiet invitation….

And so I found myself writing these simple words in my journal today; “Life is not at all as I imagined, but being able to make peace with life as it is ~ I am so blessed and grateful to live each day as who I am.” There was a time when I believed peace would come when life finally resembled the plans I had carefully carried. Yet the years have taught me something far gentler. Peace does not always arrive through changed circumstances. More often, it is found when we loosen o

This painting feels like a quiet memory made visible. And it speaks very loudly in quiet whispers, where my art is wandering these days. Life is often made up of ordinary mornings, familiar routines, and small moments that rarely make it into history books, yet become the places where love quietly grows. And so through this piece “The Chooks Are Out” another branch of my family tree can be seen. Again the people and their place of residence are not marked by grand events or f

Lord, Today I find myself thinking about hands. Hands that stitched before mine. Hands that carried responsibilities I can only begin to imagine. Hands that repaired, comforted, provided, and persevered. As I continue stitching my legacy quilt, I am reminded that every thread I pull today follows a path laid down by someone before me. My thoughts return to Mary Martha. To the quilts she made. To the hours she spent creating warmth and comfort from her own hands. Though separa

Change is a quiet companion. It arrives softly, sometimes unnoticed, like the gentle shift of light through a window. I have come to understand that embracing change is not about rushing forward but about slowly becoming . This kind of change can feel overwhelming. It can shake the very foundation of who we think we are. But what if we allowed ourselves to move with it, rather than against it? To listen to its rhythm, soft and steady, like a heartbeat beneath the surface. I

This week, on the podcast my thoughts have been resting on something beautifully ordinary. Hands. Not simply what they do, but what they remember. As I continue stitching pieces together for my legacy quilt, I find myself slowing down enough to notice the countless hands that came before mine. Hands that mended clothing rather than replacing it. Hands that stitched blankets to keep families warm. Hands that prepared meals, tended children, worked long hours, and quietly carri

After the public holiday , I am sitting within the quiet moments for how much the world feels heavy, where pain and hardship seems to be weighing so many down in spirit ~ finding a gentle refuge in art seems key. And I am not just talking about any art, but repose art ~ this way is a tender, slow unfolding of shapes, colours, and textures that invite us to pause, breathe, and reflect. This is a journey of contemplation, a soft embrace for the soul. It is here and in this sp

This week’s episode comes through a name that has quietly stitched itself back into my daily breath. That name is Mary Martha. As I continue working on my legacy quilt and piecing fabric together in the studio, I find myself thinking often about the structure of Mary’s life not simply the events of it, but the strength it required to live it. Mary was an “on strength” wife and mother living within the demands and restrictions of military life. Her days would have been shaped