There is something about the sea that draws people, and from being a small child it has magnetically pulled me towards it. From calm, aquamarine stillness, to slate grey rollers and furious foam pounding the shore, I am entranced by it, smitten by its moods. I love nothing more than to walk in its crystal clear shallows, and bathe in its turquoise depths, and at the same time I am respectful and wary of its shadow side, slightly fearing its currents and insidious creeping tides.

We have been to stay on the Yorkshire coast for a few days, to breathe in the salty air and watch sea birds skim the surface of the waves. We found a cosy little Air B&B cottage for three on a small farm about ten minutes drive from Robin Hood’s Bay, nestled in the folds of the moors which afforded us a view over fields and woodland that led down to a generous half moon of sea, sitting like a blue bowl between the hills with its white tipped waves and cloud shadows dancing on its surface.

I found myself drawn to the windows of the house often and spent long moments watching it, observing all the different boats that travelled up and down and which we followed on the Marine Traffic app, seeing where these lonely vessels had come from and where they were going.

At dusk I watched as enchanting lights appeared on the water, and we learnt that they were night fishing boats from down the coast, while along the horizon smaller, more distant lights passed silently by - a container ship heading to France, an oil tanker coming to the Port of Tyne from the Netherlands. There is something remote, and deeply comforting about these small lights out on an expanse of dark sea.

We ventured onto the beach for long walks, inhaling deep breaths of air infused with sea salt and ozone. The wind whipped the blue sea into glassy rollers that smashed onto the beach, and surfers paddled out to take advantage of the swell.

The weather on Thursday was unpredictable. Buffeted by high winds on the beach at Filey, we got caught in a cloudburst. Out of nowhere the sky turned dark and a deluge of rain needled the smooth surface of the flat grey ocean like a pin cushion. Wind howled down the beach, a mist descended over the horizon and a distant tanker was obliterated by the curtain of the storm.

I don’t paint the sea as much these days, yet it still inspires me to think about making art. I spend time gazing into rock pools and noticing colour, form and texture. I am mesmerised by the tiny worlds cupped in hollowed shallows left behind by the receding tide - you can find all kinds of life in there if you have the time to sit a while and look. I love the delicate pink fronds of seaweed, the mermaids purses, sea lettuce, and juicy bladderwrack and the tiny shrimp, hermit crabs and silvery fish. The colours are enchanting, it’s like a watery fairy land.

Being landlocked in Yorkshire, getting to the coast is always a treat and from the first glimpse to the first inhale it seems to have some mysterious power that restores and heals. I have returned from our trip feeling lighter and inspired, a flurry of promising ideas arrived as I sat watching the waves at the small beachside cafe in Sandsend with a slab of carrot cake and a pot of Earl Grey tea. I suddenly had a clear vision of what I was going to do next, and to begin a personal project that I would work away on slowly alongside my other work.

I hope we can go back again soon.

The Solace of the Sea