A Warm Welcome to My First Newsletter!

Hello there,

For years, I have been reading and skimming through the various newsletters I subscribe to. Some resonate deeply, others I abandon halfway through, and sometimes I only read the subject line before putting them into the bin. My reaction usually depends on my mood at the moment they land in my inbox.

I have thought about starting a newsletter for a long time, but was I very hesitant. I hated the idea of people deleting it without opening it, and I often felt I didn’t have enough to say—perhaps from a lack of confidence, or simply not fully understanding my own art practice and career direction. Instead, I stuck to sporadic Instagram updates. While that certainly helped my career, it wasn’t always the best for my mental health.

So here I am, finally sharing my first newsletter—and hopefully the first of many. In these updates, I will share what’s happening in my studio, reflections from the past season, exhibitions I have attended, artists and books that inspire me, and a few other bits and pieces that I hope you might find interesting.

If you have made it this far, thank you for sticking with me! I hope you enjoy reading.

Aoife x

Motherhood

For those who don’t already know, I became a mother last December. My husband, Lorcan, and I welcomed our beautiful baby girl, Elle Scott-Quinn, into the world on a cold winter’s night. What a transformative year it has been. She is, without question, the best piece of work I have ever created or collaborated on—but of course, I’m biased.

Pregnancy was tough. My energy was at an all-time low and the discomfort was relentless. As someone who thrives on outdoor movement and needs to be active to feel grounded, the physical limitations of pregnancy and early motherhood were difficult. But overall, motherhood has been nothing short of wonderful. Sure, there were moments when the hormonal changes and sleep deprivation, made me question my sanity. But all the hard times and dark nights of early motherhood aside, it has been amazing. Watching Elle grow and develop into her own little person has been the most incredible journey.

Interestingly, I’ve found so many parallels between motherhood and my art practice. The joy, pride, and exhaustion of nurturing something and watching it change daily feels deeply familiar. Now, as Elle approaches her first birthday, I’m beginning to think about nurturing my first “baby” again—my art practice.

Practice

I have so many ideas buzzing in my head at the moment—projects and exhibitions I would love to bring to life someday—but since it’s been quite some time, I have decided to ease myself gently back into the studio and take the pressure off. I tend to dive headfirst into things and overwhelm myself quickly, and that’s not what my brain needs right now.

These last few months have been challenging. Returning to myself, and to the studio, while navigating motherhood has felt like trying to step back into a moving river. In some ways, early motherhood was simpler when my only tasks were caring for our daughter, staying hydrated, and getting out for a daily walk. The shift from those slower days of mostly just mothering to juggling being a mother, a wife, a friend, an artist, and an amateur ‘athlete’ has been… a lot. Honestly, it’s been overwhelming. And because I am someone who loves to overachieve and overthink, I am making myself slow right down. Pencil to paper, brush to canvas—letting things flow without forcing and without over planning.

In the past few years, I have grown to really love painting—learning the medium, exploring its possibilities, and slowly discovering how it fits into my wider practice. I work intuitively, spilling, splashing, and throwing paint in ways that echo the fluid movement of my body across a landscape. Returning to the studio recently with the simple intention to enjoy myself—to play, to loosen up, and to let the work unfold naturally—has felt incredibly liberating. If a new series of paintings emerges from it, wonderful. And if not, at least I had fun and found a little escape and much-needed time for myself.

As I paint, I catch myself analysing every mark and wondering, How could I achieve this gesture through printmaking? Printmaking is always there in the background, quietly shaping everything—from the way I approach my paintings to how I think about layering in my sculptures. Once a printmaker, always a printmaker.

One thing I’ve been grappling with—because it’s been such a constant presence in my life these past two years—is change. As I begin to slowly start making work again, I have realised that things feel very different. A lot of things have changed in my life and the world around me since I last was fully immersed in my art practice. As an artist I feel different and in myself I feel different. This feeling of drastic change scared me. Then I read something in a newsletter from a brand I love, Paynter, that struck a chord:

“Change isn’t one big event—it’s a process. It’s not a single moment where everything suddenly becomes perfect or different. It’s a gradual chipping away, a cycle of testing, adjusting, altering and finding small ways to improve or reshape what already exists.”

What I’m taking from this is that I don’t need to fear change—because it’s not some rare upheaval, it’s a constant part of life. When I look back at my work from ten or even five years ago, the evolution is huge. But that shift didn’t happen overnight—it came from years of experimenting, researching, failing, failing again, learning, and reflecting. Bit by bit.

Now, my aim is to find a sense of balance between family life and my art practice, and to embrace the changes that come with both. They are shaping me, and shaping my work, in ways that feel exciting.

I feel incredibly lucky to have a studio right beside my house here in Wicklow, which will hopefully make that balance a little easier. And speaking of balance—I am equally relieved and delighted that my little girl turns one next month, and just as excited about the series of half-finished paintings lying across my studio floor. Keep an eye on my Instagram over the next few months for updates on these pieces and news about upcoming exhibitions.

Land

We moved to Wicklow two years ago in search of a slower pace of life—one where we, and our future children, could be immersed in nature and learn to love and respect the land we live on. After the move, my artistic research became increasingly rooted in questions of origin: where I come from, and where we, as people of the island of Ireland, come from—spiritually, culturally, and practically.

Words and concepts such as temperate rainforests, stone circles, solar alignments, curses, Gaels, foraging, gathering, traversing, and seasonal living have been circling in my mind. I have always been drawn to the idea of origins, often asking my grandparents about family histories. I love stories—the folklore that Irish people are so gifted at passing down.

In my early years as an emerging artist, I spent my time exploring derelict buildings around Ireland, imagining the people who once inhabited the rooms where I sat, photographed, and drew. I hated the idea that people, places, and stories could be forgotten, so I made work that tried to honour and preserve those memories through print. I have always been nostalgic; I believe we can learn so much from our ancestors and what they have left behind.

I feel that people in Ireland are undergoing a significant shift at the moment. Many of my peers are beginning to ask similar questions, to look back, and to seek guidance from those who came before us. There is a renewed desire to live more consciously from—and for—the land: to tread lightly, to reconnect with natural rhythms, and to reawaken ways of being that once anchored the Gaels. We’re putting our phones down and rediscovering the importance of the ancient Gaelic seasons, solar alignments, our native Irish language, and the physical and spiritual benefits that comes from living in harmony with the natural world. Many a time, Manchán Magan spoke so beautifully about what he called this “great awakening” taking place within all of us. If you haven’t already, I highly recommend reading his book Listen to the Land Speak—it’s truly fantastic.

Boleycarrigeen Stone Circle, Kilranelagh Hill, West Wicklow

A few years ago, I came across a word that perfectly captures this collective reconnection: ‘the Symbioscene’. Coined by philosopher Glenn Albrecht, it describes a future epoch in which humans live in symbiosis with the Earth—where our cultures, technologies, and daily lives support and regenerate the ecosystems we depend on. It offers a hopeful vision of a world in which humans and nature thrive together, and it encapsulates the shift I feel emerging around us: a return to seasonal living, to ancestral knowledge, to listening to the land and rebuilding a harmonious relationship with it.

On a personal level, the move from suburbia to the sticks has made me far more attuned to the natural world. I find myself identifying the trees I pass, stopping to watch birds circling overhead as I walk, foraging berries along hedgerows and collecting seeds. I must say though, I do miss the sea, but after two years here, I feel I’m finally settling into country life. The mountains hold a different kind of power: raw, grounding, and deeply elemental. The seasons here are visceral and impossible to ignore, sometimes even overwhelming. This autumn was the first time I truly felt a season in my whole body—colours brighter, scents sharper, the air textured and alive. Last spring was similar, though softened by the haze of sleepless nights and round-the-clock feeds, which made it harder to be fully present. I think this deeper awareness comes from slowing down, shedding the daily urge to rush, and allowing myself simply to be.

The land around me feels rich—rich in life, in history, and in hope. The next chapter in my practice will be spent exploring this landscape more deeply, searching for the clues our predecessors left behind: the quiet reminders to listen to the land, to tread softly, and to slow down.

Thank you for taking the time to read my first newsletter. I look forward to seeing you all back here for my next one during Imbolc in February 2026.

With love,

Aoife x

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