Nana’s favourite chair

Artists throughout history have returned again and again to the simple image of a chair. It’s an iconic subject, though its meaning shifts — sometimes symbolising absence, sometimes presence, memory, stability, rest, companionship, or quiet personal stories.

Much of my work is deeply inspired by Vincent van Gogh. He is one of my all-time favourite artists, and I feel a strong kinship with him. When you read about his struggles — particularly with socialising and navigating the world — it’s hard not to recognise clear autistic traits. As an autistic artist working in the 21st century, I understand those struggles intimately.

Van Gogh often painted chairs, using them as quiet stand-ins for loneliness and human presence. That made me pause and ask myself: I’ve never painted a chair before — and if I did, what would it mean to me?

I knew immediately that flowers had to be central. Flowers have always been my first love. From there, the chair slowly found its place.

This painting is titled Nana’s Favourite Chair. Like much of my work, it is rooted in memory — but it holds more than one truth at once.

My grandmother was in my life only briefly when I was very young. I remember her sitting in her armchair by the fire, crocheting blankets with quiet intensity. When I turned eighteen, my mother fractured our entire family, and I was disowned. I am now forty-five, and I have not spoken to them since. My childhood was deeply sad, and I was left to survive the world alone.

Yet certain images linger — a stern woman, once a matron in her career, sitting silently by the fire, hands moving quickly with yarn and needles. That chair, for me, became a symbol of absence.

At the same time, I watch my own children grow up with a grandmother who is everything I once imagined a nana could be. She is gentle, adored, and deeply treasured. She steals small moments of rest in her favourite chair whenever life allows — though those moments are rare.

This painting holds both versions: the nana who was absent, and the nana who is wholeheartedly loved.

And then there are the flowers.

These are imagined plants, bursting with vibrant colour and energy — part of my Blooming Riot collection. They are unruly, expressive, and alive. A riot of colour, all speaking at once. I like to imagine they are addressing you, the viewer, inviting you to sit down, pause for a moment, and simply take it all in. To rest. To breathe. To watch the world go by.

There is a piece of me in every layer of this painting — my memories, my losses, and my hopes for the days still to come. If this work carries a quiet message, it is this: love and cherish the people around you. We never truly know how long they will remain in our world.