Two months as a full-time artist

At the start of 2026 I stepped into something I’d been quietly working towards for a long time, becoming a full-time artist.

The world feels quite a chaotic place just now, and in that context choosing to focus on painting might seem like a small thing. But for me it has felt like creating a bit of space. Space to think, space to breathe, space to notice things again. And, perhaps most importantly, space to heal.

Just over two months in, I can say that it’s going well. Not perfectly, there have been a few bumps along the way, but the overall feeling is one of energy and possibility. 2026 is shaping up to be an exciting year.

What has surprised me most is how quickly a rhythm begins to form when the studio becomes the centre of the week. Some days are wonderfully quiet with just paint, brushes and the changing light coming through the studio window. Other days are full of the less visible parts of being an artist: emails, website maintenance, organising exhibitions and events, prepping paintings for exhibitions. Being a professional artist isn’t just about making paintings; it’s about holding together lots of small moving pieces so my practice can (hopefully) sustain itself.

There have also been some very human interruptions along the way. One afternoon of potting up primroses in the garden ended with a rather dramatic cut finger and a trip to A&E. Not ideal timing when you rely on your hands for a living, but thankfully the wonderful NHS patched me up and it’s slowly healing. The primroses do look lovely on the doorstep though.

Alongside small mishaps there have been moments that remind me why I chose this path. A watercolour in the Royal Scottish Society of Painters in Watercolour exhibition at the RSA recently found a new home, which is always a special feeling. There’s something quietly powerful about knowing a painting will go on to live its life in someone else’s space.

And then there are the moments outside that feed the work in ways that are hard to predict. Earlier this week I made a trip to the seaside in Ayr to deliver paintings to the Maclaurin Gallery. It turned into one of those perfect coastal days with the sea an intense clear blue, the sky sharp and bright. The kind of crisp light that stays with you long after you’ve left. Experiences like that always find their way back into the paintings somehow.

Landscape has always been at the centre of my work, and being able to spend more time noticing the subtleties of light, weather and horizon feels like a real privilege. The pace of painting is slower than many other professions, but that slowness is part of what makes it meaningful.

There’s also a strong sense of community that comes with this life. In February I took part in the Artist Bookmarket at the Fruitmarket in Edinburgh. It was such a warm and generous environment full of conversations, curiosity and familiar faces. Moments like that remind me that while painting can be solitary, the wider creative world is incredibly supportive.

Looking ahead, the diary is filling up in encouraging ways. There are exhibitions across Scotland, the Borders Art Fair in Kelso, and a solo show in Orkney in April a place that I will always call home. Being born there means the landscape and light of the islands have shaped how I see the world, and returning there to exhibit feels particularly meaningful.

Perhaps the biggest learning so far is that being a full-time artist isn’t just about stepping away from one career into another. It’s about building something slowly and deliberately. Taking opportunities that feel right. Saying yes to things that support the work and the life around it.

In a world that often feels fast, noisy and uncertain, painting offers a different rhythm. A quieter one. One where paying attention to light, to colour, to a distant horizon still feels important.

I’m incredibly grateful to everyone who supports my work, whether that’s by visiting exhibitions, buying paintings, or following along with what I’m doing. Being able to dedicate this time to painting is something I don’t take for granted.

And two months in, it feels like this first chapter is only just beginning.