“Texture gives a painting its heartbeat.
Understanding an artist’s journey offers a deeper appreciation of their work, the influences, decisions, and passions that shape their creative path…
For Anya, landscape painting is less about mapping a place and more about capturing the feeling of one: that fragile space where memory, intuition, and imagination mingle. Her work lives in that threshold between the recognisable and the dreamlike, drawing the viewer into scenes that feel real but remain deliberately unpinned from geography. Through layered surfaces and shifting light, she invites us to wander the emotional terrain beneath each horizon.
Her artistic voice has been shaped by a life lived across contrasting worlds: the vivid colours of her childhood in Uganda and Kenya, and the quieter rhythms of the British coastline she paints today. Those early impressions of intense light and bold hue still echo through her palette, infusing her harbours and headlands with warmth and vitality. Texture, movement, and stillness intertwine in her process; each piece evolving through chance, control, and a deep sense of place.
LSA: You’ve spoken about creating landscapes that feel “real but not always locatable”. What draws you to that in-between space where reality and imagination blur?
I’ve always felt that landscapes hold stories beyond what we see. When I paint, I’m not trying to replicate a photograph—I’m chasing a feeling, a memory, a fleeting sense of place. That “in-between” space lets me weave together fragments of reality with the freedom of imagination. It’s where the familiar becomes dreamlike, and that ambiguity invites the viewer to wander and wonder.
LSA: Your early life in Uganda and Kenya sits in vivid contrast with the coastal and rural British scenes you paint today. Do those African memories still shape how you use colour and composition?
Absolutely. Growing up in Uganda and Kenya left me with an enduring love for bold colours and dramatic contrasts. The vibrancy of those landscapes and seascapes—the ochres, the deep blues, the lush greens—still whispers through my work. Even when I’m painting the British coastline or a quirky harbour there’s often a Vibrancy, a warmth or intensity in the palette that comes from those early impressions of light and colour.
LSA: You work with a wide range of tools to build rich textures. What does texture allow you to express that colour alone cannot?
Texture gives a painting its heartbeat. Colour can evoke mood, but texture adds depth and character—it makes you want to reach out and touch the surface, to feel the story beneath. Through layers of Gesso, paper, paint, and mixed media, I can suggest movement, erosion, the swirling or rippling of the sea, the ruggedness of cliffs or even the gentle calm of a still moment in time. It’s a way of making the landscape tactile, almost alive.
LSA: How did your time teaching shape your artistic voice, your discipline, or even the sense of play and experimentation in your work?
Teaching taught me patience and playfulness. Working with children reminded me that creativity thrives when you’re not afraid to experiment. That sense of freedom—splattering paint, tearing paper, trying something unexpected—still informs my process. At the same time, teaching instilled discipline: the commitment to keep showing up, to keep exploring, even when the outcome is uncertain.
LSA:What role does the interplay of movement and stillness play in your Harbours and landscapes?
When I paint, I’m always searching for that delicate balance between energy and calm. The movement comes through in the textures and flowing layers – I love how inks and washes can mimic the rhythm of tides or the sweep of a coastal breeze. It gives the work a sense of life, of something constantly shifting. But alongside that, I need stillness. The cottages, the harbours, those familiar shapes within the landscape – they’re my anchors and they hold the composition steady, offering a quiet moment amid the flux. For me, that interplay reflects the essence of the coast/landscape: vibrant and unpredictable, yet deeply rooted in memory and place. I start with spontaneity—marks and textures that feel free—then gradually build harmony with colour. It’s a conversation between chance and control, movement and rest. That’s what makes these scenes feel dreamlike: they’re real enough to recognise, but they belong as much to emotion as to geography.
