A Birthday Rule and a Day of Art
February half term coincided with my birthday this year.
I don’t think I’m alone in finding it hard to tempt my children away from screens. But on my birthday there’s one small rule — they aren’t allowed to complain too loudly. So I squeezed in not one, but two things that fill me with awe and delight: the Wildlife Photographer of the Year exhibition and the Bristol Light Festival.
We were lucky with the weather, which made wandering through our home city together feel easy and unhurried. There’s something special about seeing familiar streets transformed by light, colour and scale.
I loved hearing which photographs and installations they were drawn to — and why. Opinions forming in real time. Thoughts shared openly. A simple, quiet joy in being present together.
And as we stood there, taking it all in, something else began forming in my mind.
Standing in Front of Other Artists
As I stood in front of those photographs and installations, I found myself thinking, this is art, created by artists.
Reading about each piece, it became clear how much patience, planning and persistence had gone into bringing these visions to life. The photographers had waited for the right moment. The light installations had begun as ideas, then sketches, then engineering, then reality.
They had observed something carefully. Shaped it. Refined it. And chosen to share it.
They are clearly skilled. But they are also ordinary people who started somewhere — with learning, mistakes and courage.
And I realised… I do that too.
I observe.
I draw.
I refine.
I share.
So why do I still struggle to call myself an artist?
Why Is That Word So Hard?
My inner voice sometimes whispers, “You only draw flowers.”
I slip easily into comparison. I carry that very British — and often very female — tendency to downplay what I do. The word artist feels reserved for someone more accomplished, more serious, more legitimate.
But here is what I am slowly learning:
I create art. Therefore, I am an artist.
Not because I am famous.
Not because I exhibit in galleries.
But because I notice, translate and share.
What Shared Art Experiences Teach Us
And perhaps this is why shared art experiences matter so much.
In a world constantly urging us to do more, be more and have more, art invites us to slow down. It asks us to consider someone else’s point of view — or quite literally, their way of seeing the world.
Art creates memory.
Art slows us down.
Art gives us something to talk about beyond logistics and to-do lists.
Art helps children see the world differently.
Art gives adults permission to feel awe, delight and wonder.
If art can enrich our lives this much… the people who create it matter.
Claiming the Word “Artist” at 47
I truly believe we all matter. And I’m beginning to believe that the small, quiet ways we influence and encourage others can be just as powerful as the dramatic ones.
Yes, artists can be extraordinary, famous and influential.
But artists can also be people who quietly notice, create and share.
I notice nature.
I draw it by hand.
I add colour and create patterns.
I turn those illustrations into cards, prints, fabric, gratitude journals and colouring sheets that help people connect — with those they love and with themselves (take a closer look at my products here).
That isn’t accidental creativity.
That is intentional art.
As I move further into my late forties, I feel deeply grateful to grow older and greyer each year. Birthdays remind me how far I’ve come, and gently prompt me to consider who I am still becoming.
Building a business around my art has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. And one of the most challenging parts has been learning to say, without apology or boastfulness: I am an artist.
Not loudly. Not defensively. Just calmly and truthfully.
A Gentle Invitation
So tell me — where are you downplaying yourself?
What title feels uncomfortable but true?
What might change if you owned it gently?
If this resonated with you, I’d truly love to hear from you.
Email me mo@verbenawave.co.uk or message me on Facebook or Instagram.