After a lovely lunch with my love and his dad at Fortnum & Mason, we came home to paint. “Let’s do some painting this afternoon,” he said.

I sat before the blank rice paper with my calligraphy brushes and ink—treasures brought back from Japan over the years, tucked into my sketchbook and finally ready to be used. For the first time in weeks, I wasn’t try…

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One afternoon last summer, I gathered them round my studio table. My love, two friends, the light slanting through the window. I placed my oxalis in the centre—the one with leaves that fold at night like clasped hands. One side deep purple, the other green.

“Are you ready?” I said. “Five minutes. Here we go.”

I watched their faces change. That initial res…

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This afternoon, pen in left hand. Water-soluble graphite 8B pencil. Cheap printer paper. The instruction: draw one or several curved lines, then fill the sections with simple, repetitive patterns. No rules. Don’t erase mistakes.

As I continue my studies in therapeutic arts, I’m learning that becoming an effective art therapist requires commitment to my o…

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