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Project 1

Acrylic, 610mm x 1225mm

The story of this room starts with the Resene wallpaper which caught my eye. It reminded me of the 19th Century feminist story about a woman trapped in a yellow papered room to "cure" her nervous complaint. see footnote


The birds come out of the wall and circle above before heading into subsequent paintings. The title is a phrase remembered from an old Charlie Brown episode. Inspiration can indeed come from anywhere.

Giclee Print

All prints are giclée quality – the best digital print technology available. Archival inks, cold press watercolour paper and colour correction by industry experts from Copyart, Richmond,. Your artwork will be checked and packed into a tube ready to be framed by you.

Limited edition full size print $450 inc p&p in NZ

One of a signed limited edition of 50

Printed area 610mm x 1225mm with 20mm border

If you want a different size, please use contact page for a custom size and price.


Original Available $2,750

#2 "the psychiatrist is out"

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  "the psychiatrist is out"  




Auckland 2018  Mary


She tried to calm her breathing.

“Breathe in to the count of seven - out to the count of eleven.” 

Goodness that was harder than you’d think: she had only got to nine. Not exactly relaxing. The thing about anxiety is that it’s so damned illogical. You know you’re perfectly safe, and the person you’re about to talk to doesn’t hold any threat. But beads of perspiration on your forehead and clammy hands say otherwise. It has you back on the Savannah. And this time you aren’t the top of the food chain.


“Breathe in to the count of seven  -  out to the count of ten. Make it easier. “

 She was suddenly hit with a memory. As children she and her three older brothers had played a game of holding your breath when their car went through a tunnel. They would all take a huge gulp of air as the family’s mark 1 Ford Cortina had entered the Lyttleton Tunnel to Christchurch and then looked at each other as they desperately held their breath and tried not to giggle. It usually ended

up with one of them poking another in the ribs and then all of them collapsing into helpless fits of laughter. How happy and sad she felt looking back on those times when there were the four of them packed into the back seat, squirming like puppies. 


“ If you’re good there’ll be ice creams on the way home,” mum had always promised. They were never that good and like as not it was Bertie’s fault.  But they always got ice creams as their dear mother had a sweet tooth and she wasn’t keen to go without.




So rare for the four of them to get together these days. Bertie was Rob now and lived in San Francisco which he insisted on calling “San Fran,”  irritating her for no good reason. He hadn’t even made it to their beloved mum’s funeral earlier in the year because “he couldn’t take the time off” so the service was live -streamed. But you couldn’t live-stream shared tears and hugs. Bertie used to give the best hugs.


Enough of this. The time on her phone said her short wait was over. Standing up and wiping her damp hands on the back of her skirt - a firm handshake always made a good impression- she pressed the intercom. “Suzy - you can send the next patient in now.”

Footnote: Gilman, Charlotte Perkins,  " The Yellow Wallpaper" written 1890. if you google it there are versions freely available to read online. 

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