Winter in Shetland has a rhythm all of its own. The days are shorter, the light softer, and life naturally slows down after the busy summer season. It’s a time I’ve learned to value deeply — both as an artist and as someone rooted in this place.
Some winter mornings begin with fresh snow settling across the hillside, the sun just lifting over the slope and casting long shadows across the ground. Even after all these years, moments like this still stop me in my tracks. The light feels precious, fleeting — something to be noticed before the day properly begins. These quiet starts often set the tone for time spent in the studio, where the outside world gently seeps into the work I’m making.
Inside, winter brings a different kind of stillness. With fewer visitors and exhibitions, there’s space to focus, reflect and experiment. The studio becomes a place of calm creativity, accompanied by the simple comforts of warmth, tea… and the occasional studio supervisor.
My cat has perfected the art of winter studio life — curled up in a basket by the window, watching snowflakes gather on the glass. It’s a small, everyday moment, but one that feels very much part of my creative process. These quiet, domestic scenes are just as influential as the dramatic landscapes outside.
Winter skies often surprise us here. On clear nights, when the wind drops and the stars come out, Shetland reveals one of its greatest gifts.
Seeing the aurora from home never gets old. The soft ribbons of colour moving across the sky are impossible to fully capture, but they leave a lasting impression. These moments feed directly into my work — the colours, the movement, the sense of wonder — often finding their way into my resin seascapes and jewellery.
During daylight hours, the sea continues to be my greatest source of inspiration. Even in winter, I’m drawn to the shoreline whenever I can be. Beachcombing at this time of year feels different: quieter, more solitary, and often more rewarding.
The sea gives up its treasures slowly — fragments of shells, sea glass worn smooth by time, and delicate sea urchins in all shapes and sizes. These natural forms influence both the textures and colours in my work. Holding something so small and intricate, shaped entirely by the sea, is a reminder of why I’m drawn to using found materials and coastal inspiration.
Back in the studio, these experiences come together. Winter is when I focus on creating new work, refining ideas and allowing pieces to develop without rush. It’s also a time to look back at the year just gone and think ahead to what’s next.
This slower season gives me the space to reconnect with why I make art in the first place — responding to the landscape around me, working with materials shaped by nature, and creating pieces that carry a sense of place. Everything I make is influenced by Shetland: the light, the sea, the weather, and the quiet moments in between.
As winter continues, I’ll be sharing more from the studio as new pieces take shape. Whether you’re following from afar or visiting Shetland in person, I hope my work brings a little of this winter atmosphere into your home.