I had a GREAT conversation with another Artist last week, who is mentoring me through some (big-and-moderately-scary) applications that I have my sights on this year. It was one of those conversations that felt effortless and flowed. I felt very much in the moment, because it was easy and honest, and will hopefully lead me to where I want to go. The sense of freedom in our chatter seemed to unlock some of the words that I can often find hard to describe my practice. The why and what’s-it-all-about stuff kinda stuff. And the seemingly simple things that come up again and again.

Pause.

Offerings.

Hands. My hands.

Gestures.

Tokens.

Gifts.

We gently poked around some of the ideas a bit more and reflected on my recent solo show, the love you leave, at Emerald Frames and Gallery . The big-little-showing of work that gave me wings to do and to try and to aim high and go for the bigger things that I can sometimes feel unworthy of (hence the mentoring for the big-and-moderately-scary applications).

Round and round it went, with Harriet kindly repeating lots of my own words back to me. But somehow they felt new, like I had heard them for the first time. But with a spotlight dazzling me with their simple magic.

Days later I find myself still thinking about the notion of gifting. Offerings and tokens. Small moments of gratitude and joy, and how I might bring that to others in my work, in myself, and in many other ways that I have yet to understand and digest.

Which has lit the spark of an idea. For a paper trail.

A paper trail of love no less.

Mini love notes handprinted by me for whoever needs them in that moment. Quitely hidden in plain sight, in some of my most treasured places. A gesture of how we might feel in that moment, how we might be connected for a second.

So why not?

And this is how I think it will go. My rules if you like:

There will be seven mini love notes dotted about the Welsh coastline.

Seven.

Not because it’s my lucky number, but because it’s a happy number for me. There are seven girls in my maternal line. Seven has been our family home for over 40 years (which we have lovingly and obviously called No7 for most of that time). Seven days in a week. Seven because I want to.

But maybe there will be more? Who knows. I’m making it all up a bit as I go, but isn’t everyone?

These seven love notes will be packed for the weather, because the rain feels endless right now. But you should spot them in bright yellow stripes. This will be their tell; a sprinkle of sunshine - like deckchairs - in the Welsh winter mizzle.

There will be some simple instructions, handwritten by me - keep it, gift it, maybe share the love back to me - but none of them really matter.

And that’s it.

I’ll try to post them to my stories. I might even share a coordinate. But I might not.

Maybe I will hear about where they land and how that love note might have caused a ripple, sparked a smile (or an eye roll!) Maybe even a fly post notice (but let’s hope not).

Maybe they will get soggy wet and no-one will ever know. Except me. And all of the treasured places I will leave them.

I wonder…