Featured Artist

Rebecca Ward is a visual artist from the UK who investigates the world of plants as her muse, letting herself be pulled into the detailed tangle of twining leaves, twigs, and branches. A myriad of delicate lines intertwine on the pages, introducing the wildflowers that are so easily overlooked. Ward has traveled and lived in Australia, South Africa, and New Zealand, ultimately settling in a quiet corners of Connecticut. I caught up with her to chat about her work’s narrative.

What brought you to this area?

In my late teens, I applied for a nanny job in New York that was advertised in the London Times. I passed the interview in London, landed the job, and came here to work for Dianne von Furstenberg. I didn’t really know who she was at the time, being young and somewhat naïve. Still, it unfolded into a fantastic three-year experience in such a different era, experiencing New York City in all her glory, gathering at Studio 54, and learning about life.

Afterwards, I headed back to London, where I was invited on a trip retracing Robert Scott’s Antarctic expedition, photographing the route. Another extraordinary adventure, surrounded by acres of ice, whales, and wildlife. Unfortunately, the conditions were not optimal, the weather was really harsh, and the boat was crushed by sea ice. We sadly had to abandon ship and were safely extracted to New Zealand. Standing on the ice with all the containers and luggage waiting for rescue was utterly surreal. 

Back in New York, I met my husband, Bruce, who was an exhibit designer. He and I would spend many happy weekends escaping to Kent, CT, to see my best friend and her husband. Eventually, our friends sent us details of a house nearby, and finally, we bought our own home. I never thought this would be it, settling in a quiet area as I had moved around so often with work. 

However, our children held us in place, and Bruce found a wonderful house in Norfolk when I was pregnant with our second child. A great wreck of a home, freezing cold and uninsulated, in the fridge of Connecticut. We looked at each other, “Oh my god, what are we doing?” But we loved this charming house and raised our children there. They loved growing up in Norfolk versus New York City, and our lives revolved around the children. 

Bruce was really the artist in our family; he was an exhibit designer in New York. His work won numerous national design awards, including a Presidential Design Award for Blue Heron: the design and graphics for the Mashantucket Pequot Museum, the largest Native American Museum in the United States; and awards from various presidential libraries. He also painted and constantly encouraged me to paint more. I had studied graphic design at UCLA and particularly loved calligraphy there, which feels related to what I do now. So, I would draw caricatures and scribbles to keep my hand in, but I was not painting full-time then. Sadly, dear Bruce died, and life became more difficult as we navigated without him.

At this time, I started to draw again. That evolved into an all-consuming obsession, which I quietly did alone. Just before the COVID lockdown, I remember my son, Charlie, wanted to get out of New York to come and live with me, and I thought, “Oh, I’ll have to stop drawing because Charlie’s coming.” I was so nervous that I hadn’t shown my new work to anyone. I started posting my work on Instagram, which set me on the path of encouragement; I have found it to be a great place to show work for discussion and to meet other artists.

How do you juggle work and painting?

I’m so lucky that I can come home at night, and I’ve got this passion for what I want to do. I’m not sitting in front of the telly. I love that I have this work; it is so fulfilling and consuming. Curiosity keeps my brain going. I am constantly looking at other ideas of how and why. If I’m in the middle of a drawing, I walk around and go, “Oh, I should do that.” This is a gift to me. 

I love commissions because they give deadlines, and each project is unique. I have worked on hotel commissions and, similarly, on open calls, which are fun to work for. My friend Dana, who runs Montage, said, “Let’s have a show together at the shop.” It was well received, but just as COVID lockdowns hit, it was sadly shuttered all too quickly. When showing, I do not care about prices; I am happy that people want my work and that it is accessible. It is a joy to see it head out into the world. 

Are there any other artists in your family?

Yes, we are all creative. My sister Amanda Ward is a good sculptor. She has just finished a commission of the peace protestor Brian Haw installed in Parliament Square. Brian Haw lived in a tent in Parliament Square for ten years as a peaceful protester against war. She’s also just completed a sculpture of a girl, Ella, who is the first person in the UK to have died from air pollution. She was nine years old. My other sister is a brilliant interior designer, and another sister is an antique dealer after our mother, also an antique dealer and designer. So conversations about design are a constant. 

It’s always interesting to see where art lies and whether it runs in a family.

The girls in our family were not encouraged to get an education. I was very dyslexic, but I went to UCLA on my own much later to study graphic design. I was also a photographer working in photojournalism in Australia and London, which enabled me to travel. My sister ran a restaurant in London then, and we all had careers. I told my father proudly, “Isn’t it great we all have careers?” But he responded, “But none of you are married, are you?” That was his attitude from the beginning; he was of that generation where women had families rather than careers.

What motivated your practice, and why the botanicals?

Plants and flowers have always been my obsession. I love how, at the end of summer, everything is twisting and overgrown, getting lost in the weeds. Growing up in the UK, the tall hedgerows were all tangled with wildflowers, vines, and blackberries – a foraging heaven. Something about that time of year pulls me in. I feel the end of summer is my keyword. It’s a recording of something in the moment, a time.

Do you have a routine?

I look at the work in the morning, have a cup of coffee, do a quick bit, come home in the evening, and do another bit. I don’t have a schedule to draw. My other job is freelance, so I paint when I can. You lose yourself once you’re doing the work, which is why I feel privileged to be able to do this. The work is always there. I walk past it and stand to look or I might add something, but once I get going, I can spend the whole day of painting, which is amazing. 

How do you overcome creative blocks?

Sometimes I get blocked, but usually, I can work it through quite quickly. I have an idea in my brain, and I think about my work constantly; it seems built in. Do you get blocked? 

Yes sometimes, when I’m not at home, or have traveled, and haven’t had time in the studio regularly, it takes me a while to get back into that groove of going in and making. So, then I’ll start drawing, or look at galleries, and listen to podcasts. Creating is a muscle, and it needs to be used and rested.

Do you have artists you look to or have influenced you?

I grew up in a house built by George Frederick Watts in Compton. He was a Victorian artist who lived with his wife, Mary Watts. The village was infiltrated with his work and her pottery; there was a museum dedicated to his work in the village. His house had carved Gothic ceilings and was filled with his work and influence everywhere. There was a mortuary chapel that was ridiculously over-the-top Gothic, filled with angels, which were his wife’s work. So I grew up embedded in William Morris, Watts, and the Arts and Crafts Movement. 

When we were kids, we’d run around the Watts Museum in the village and drive the curator crazy. London was also embedded with Arts and Crafts; I loved the Liberty prints and lived at the Victoria and Albert Museum when in town. I went to the V&A last time I was in London, and its richness is intense; it is still fantastic. London in the 1960s was vibrant and full of inspiration both visually and musically. It was an explosive time to grow up there. 

What was the best advice anyone’s ever given you?

The best advice I have received has been encouragement from people and friends. I was making art just for myself, and then suddenly, people saw the work and supported what I was doing. That support has been profound. It has been suggested that I design wallpaper or other designs, but I don’t know if I want to take it to that level, but maybe I will. What is the best advice you were given? Do you have pieces you finish and then you don’t like? 

My best advice is do not be afraid to work in the unknown, not to fear what you have not tried, not easy but a leap of faith. I do keep works I do not like, and I never sell the first piece in a new body of work.

Yes, I kept the work I made during the lockdown in COVID; these very early pieces are primitive, which is interesting, I love them. The work’s genesis is essential, and it’s your foundation or building blocks for the following pieces.

When you’re making work, do you take photographs and use them to create the work? Do you have a dream project that you’d like to pursue?

Yes, both; I’m pretty good at photography from my photojournalism days, and I work from images, plus I also work from life. I can take a stick of leaves and copy how they’ve uniquely curled, which I love, and it’s a challenge. Drawing anything from life is challenging, perspective-wise.

I would love to create a large mural. It would be fun – really fun. I love the large murals on the buildings here in Sharon. Scaling up and making a huge piece would be great.  

 What advice would you give an artist today?

You really need to be confident and believe in what you’re doing. Confidence is key, and it does not always come easily. However, when it is there, it gives strength to your ideas. Talking about your work builds confidence.

If you could beg, borrow, or steal a piece of work from anywhere in the world, what would it be?

I would love a Picasso, particularly a figurative Picasso – they have a fluidity I admire. A Jackson Pollock would be rather special to look at daily. 

Driving away on a stark winter’s day, I imagine a large mural entwining itself on the buildings, ramping across the clapboards, weaving its narrative, and enticing the climbing vines to reach even higher. Memories of foraging for jam on quiet roads filled with brambles, nettles, and sloes, an entryway to keeping warm by the fire. I look forward to seeing the hedgerows come alive again, with those wildflowers who survive the Svalbard ice of winter to bring life and color to our outside in an ongoing canvas of moving parts. •

To see more work from Rebecca Ward, follow her on Instagram at @bluebellward, or reach out directly at rebeccabward@gmail.com. Rebecca Ward also works for commissions. You can also visit Furnace Art on Paper Archive – furnace-artonpaperarchive.com or visit rtfacts.com.