How I ended up moving north
Everyone has a story, and I suppose I could start mine with I’ve always been creative… I’ve been painting since I was in the womb…blah blah blah.
Eye roll.
Instead, I’m going to pick things up at the point people always seem most interested in: how I ended up moving from Sussex to Derbyshire. To explain that, I need to rewind a little.
Back in 2018, I was living in a one-bedroom flat in the centre of town and running a commercial art studio where adults and children could come and paint. There were parts of it I genuinely loved. I loved creating a space for people to make things. I loved seeing people discover they could paint when they’d spent years telling themselves they couldn’t. But there was an uncomfortable truth I’d started to realise. I wanted to be an artist. And although I spent every day surrounded by paint, teaching other people how to use it, I wasn’t really being one myself. Then everything changed.
In 2020, Covid arrived.
Like so many small businesses, I had to close the studio. There were a few false starts along the way — reopening with social distancing, fewer spaces, trying to make it all work — but for long stretches of time, the studio was closed. And suddenly I was there alone. In this commercial studio. With all my paints.
So I painted.
And painted.
And painted.
I absolutely loved it. For the first time, instead of fitting my own work around teaching, running a business and everything else that came with it, painting became the thing I actually did. I didn’t want it to end. As the world slowly started opening up again, things began happening with my work too. I exhibited more. I started selling more paintings. I experimented with different styles and, perhaps for the first time, started to see the possibility of a life where I really was an artist. And then normal life returned. Which was wonderful, obviously. Except normal life meant bills. The studio lessons were where I earned most of my money. So the doors needed to open again, the classes needed to come back and I needed to return to being sensible. That little dream bubble I’d accidentally landed in popped. I was tired. Stressed. Burnt out.
And then 2022 happened.
My mum died.
There it was. The catalyst.
Losing her made a lot of the things I’d been worrying about suddenly feel very small. It also made time feel very real. I closed the studio completely. I gave myself some space to think about what I actually wanted - what did I want my days to look like?Where did I want to wake up? What was I going to regret if I never gave myself the chance to try? Eventually, I realised I knew three things.
I’m an artist.
I thrive in the countryside.
I needed a fresh start.
And I knew that if I didn’t give this a proper go, I’d regret it forever. That, more than anything, was something my mum’s life had taught me. So I started imagining another kind of life. Now, I’m not going to pretend this was some romantic follow your dreams and the universe will provide moment. There was also the small matter of money. Property prices were probably the biggest practical factor in deciding where this new life could actually happen, and, inevitably, that meant looking north.
Which is where things started to get interesting…