In this blog, I reflect on my time listening to the dawn chorus and how precious morning ritual inspires my new collection of paintings.

I often sit outside in my garden at dawn, tucked beneath the shelter of my porch, with my Merlin birdsong identification app running beside me, recording and documenting what it detects. As light slowly seeps through mist and cloud, the sky shifts through an ever-changing palette of colour. Even a grey morning holds its own quiet beauty.

As the day begins to breathe, the birds start their ritual morning chorus. It begins softly, tentatively, as though they are warming up their voices — just as any serious singer would. The robin is usually the first to begin. I may not see the birds themselves, or if I do they are often only silhouettes against the brightening sky, darting through a halo of new light. But they are unmistakably present in sound, their voices heralding the arrival of a new day.

These birds feel like messengers — the voice of nature itself. I may not see every singer, but their calls are clear, resonating through the warming air, carrying a simple reminder: you belong to this. You are part of nature too.

In a world so dominated by screens, messages, and artificial intelligence, this kind of communication feels vital. It asks for deep listening. It is embodied, physical, alive. Just as the first light of day touches the skin and enters the eyes — calming the nervous system and gently counterbalancing the cortisol that wakes us — the sound of birdsong travels inward, resonating deep within me. It feels like a call from the wild to my own wild, creative self.

Messengers is the title of my new collection of paintings, currently still unfolding. In these works, birds appear as animated, vital beings — swooping through space, beaks wide open in song. The landscapes they inhabit are rich and immersive, shaped by a palette that responds directly to their voices. Like birdsong itself, the colours and tones vibrate: warm russets reminiscent of autumn leaf litter, alongside unexpected flashes of pink and yellow.

These paintings are my way of responding to — and sharing — that visceral experience of receiving an important message. A message that reminds us of what connects us to this planet, this jewel called Earth (an anagram of Heart). Our beautiful, fragile home — the only one we have. And with that reminder comes a responsibility: to protect it, to love it, and to live in deeper relationship with it.