about me, kweenie...

i guess this is where i spill my guts...

you might want to pour yourself something strong for this one...

i grew up the youngest of 3 girls, so our house was full on, hairspray clouds, borrowed tops, & dramatic strops over missing eyeliner. but underneath all of that noise was big love

my mum & dad both worked for themselves long before being an “entrepreneur” was a thing

our kitchen doubled as my mum’s hair salon, & oooft, that room well it was the HQ of a secret matriarchy!

the women who sat in those chairs were bold, glamorous, full of stories. they'd come in looking a bit defeated, a bit done with life sometimes, & my mum would work her magic

they'd leave transformed - crowned, powerful AF, ready to take on whatever dickhead was giving them grief

that's where i learned what a crown actually means. it's not just a pretty thing you wear. it's the transformation that happens when someone reminds you who the f*ck you are

then everything fell apart (& i mean everything)...

my sisters & i became 1st time mums within months of each other (weird but v true)

we were all about to figure out this motherhood thing together, with our mum showing us the ropes, right?

well actually, wrong - my mum died!

too young, too soon. too suddenly. no chance to say goodbye!

3 brand new clueless mums completely f*cking lost, & the woman who was supposed to be our guide - our everything - just wasn't there

it didn't just break us. it shattered us. your heart doesn’t bounce back from that, well not in 1 piece anyway

my dad? he worked, he functioned, but honestly? the sparkle in his eyes went out.  some years later my dad passed too, i still swear it was a broken heart

i don’t know why (maybe it’s ‘cause i’m mad) but i kept my dad’s wee ink business stamps

& my sisters & i? we rebuilt. 'cause that’s what kweens do. we rise. we rebuild. we stand stronger together...

the career i loved, till i didn't...

fast forward a bunch of years: i'd built this big career in art education. proper job, running a department, lecturing, mentoring people, climbing the ladder, loving it... until i very much DID NOT!

turns out being confident & good at your job is threatening to certain people (who knew?)

the culture turned toxic, full-on narcissistic boys club with women who were happy to crush other women just to climb a bit higher

it broke me. not 'cause i couldn't handle it, but because i could. because i spoke up. because i refused to shrink

that was my big f*ck-it moment

i started creating again. not for anyone else. not for approval or show. just to breathe, you know like just to survive!

i accidentally made a kweenie...

1st came abstracts. then words scribbled everywhere. then suddenly - women. fierce, iconic, black & white faces with colour & symbols exploding around them. Marilyn, Dorothy, Audrey, Nina

they weren't random. they were the women from my mum's salon & they were me. every single one a reflection of something i'd lived - rebellion, heartbreak, getting back TF up when you should be defeated

painting them was like therapy & protest all rolled into one. a visual middle finger to everyone who'd ever told me (or any woman) to be quieter, smaller, less

& then it hit me: this isn't just about making pretty stuff for walls. this is a f*cking movement

so i quit the toxic job. chose art. chose rebellion. chose me (cue Ewan McGregor voiceover, Trainspotting style, & no i didn’t choose the “the big f*cking television” or “leisurewear & matching luggage”)

joking aside though kweenie was born in that storm - not from grief (though there's plenty of that in there), but from fight. from a stubborn, defiant refusal to play small when i know 1st hand life is so f*cking short!

so what's in a kweenie?

the black & white faces? much as it proper kills me to admit, in my head i struggle to see my mum in colour now. but her spirit? that's the symbolism & vivid, bold colour bursting through every single artwork

the crowns? that's her salon. that's transformation. that's what she did for every woman who walked through our kitchen - lifted them up & sent them out like kweens

the wee hidden secret? each kweenie holds a secret: my dad’s wee ink business stamp is in every single 1

a nod to him. his legacy literally stamped into everything i create, a piece of my past stamped into every piece of the future

the name kweenie? the "K" is me. the "W" is an upside-down "M" - for my mum. she was the 1st true OG kween!

but kweenie is more than an artists brand she's a tribute to the women who shaped us & raised us – fierce, flawed & unforgettable, a love letter to a legacy...

i say this with love kween...

listen, a kweenie will look gorge on your walls - i'm not gonna lie about that

but she's not just decoration. she's got something to say i paint each kweenie with resilience, revolt & real-life feelings

& she's for anyone who's been underestimated, overlooked, told to tone it down or shrink back

she's for women who've survived heartbreak, burnout, loss, toxic bullsh*t - & decided to rise TF up anyway!

i mean it’s nice if your walls match your cushions but it’s way better if they remind you on the daily who TF you are, where you’ve come from & who you’re becoming

i know 1st hand that life's too short & too f*cking precious for generic bland walls & playing small, don't wait for "someday" to surround yourself with the people & things that you love

don't wait to crown yourself. don't wait to take up space & be seen!

so if you've ever felt invisible?

welcome, kween. you're in exactly the right f*cking place...

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