I’d never taken my children to the South West before. Travelling neurodiverse‑style with small kids is… well, let’s just say it comes with its own unique set of challenges. The planning, the pacing, the sensory juggling — it’s a whole thing. But something in me kept pulling toward the coast, toward the places that shaped my childhood, toward what I’ve always thought of as my mother’s heartland.
And honestly, going back unlocked something in me I didn’t realise had been stuck.
A return to where everything feels familiar
I grew up spending summers in the South West when my grandparents lived there. Devon, Cornwall — all those places where the air smells like salt and the days feel stretched out in that magical, childhood way. I hadn’t been back properly in years, and I’d never shared it with my own children.
But a couple of years ago, we visited Salcombe for the first time — all of us discovering it together — and we fell completely in love.
Salcombe: where the light dances
There’s something about Salcombe that hits differently. The light doesn’t just shine; it dances. It flickers across the water, bounces off the boats, and wraps itself around the coves like it’s trying to tell you a story.
The coves hug you. The turquoise sea feels almost unreal. And those bright green cliff tops? They light me up even on a cold day.
It’s the kind of place that makes you breathe deeper without even noticing.
Travelling neurodiverse-style — and finding ease
I won’t pretend it was all smooth sailing. Travelling with small children while managing neurodiverse needs means constantly adjusting — finding quiet corners, slowing the pace, choosing calm over “must-see” lists. But the coast helped. It softened everything. The open views, the steady horizon, the rhythm of the tide — they gave us all a bit more space to be ourselves.
And in that space, I felt something shift.
How this shapes my coastal series
Being back in the South West — with my children, in a place tied to my mother, surrounded by memories and new moments — has poured straight into my work.
The colours of Salcombe have become part of my palette:
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turquoise that feels alive
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greens that feel hopeful
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soft neutrals that feel like sand under your feet
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warm blush tones that feel like connection
And the horizon line keeps showing up too — that steady, grounding band where everything feels possible again.
Art as a way of returning
This coastal series isn’t just about beaches or cliffs. It’s about returning — to childhood memories, to family roots, to places that hold you gently even when life feels loud.
It’s about the healing that happens when you stand in a place that feels like home, even if you haven’t been there in years.
And it’s about sharing that feeling through colour, texture, and quiet, spacious compositions.