My intention as an artist: methods and meaning

Despite all the difficulties we've outlined above, art's ability to communicate faith is what we're here to explore this evening. I've chosen to do this by explaining my own process, as an artist whose intention and desire is to communicate faith.

Much attention is paid to large-scale public pieces of work, but I believe that art made and designed for smaller spaces has just as significant a role in people's lives, sanctifying their domestic environment. Why can't an Englishman's home be his temple? Or even a Welshman's?
For the past five years, my work has been on an intimate scale (more chamber music than symphony). I attend closely to the surface, in a way that almost incorporates me directly into the picture. I use soft pastel, a medium that releases its colour as soon as it is touched - in other words, it's very messy! But that means I can work with the colour on my fingers, blending and sculpting forms directly onto, and into, the surface of the handmade paper that I use.

At a literal level, the surface is simply a few millimetres' depth of paper and pigment. But the process of finalising those marks and textures goes far beyond simply looking. It's a place where ideas and arguments are resolved. In a piece like 'Chalice', for example, I was dealing with a very simple basic image, but aiming to say something about God's outrageous generosity, through the light and energy pouring out from the heart of the cup.

To do this, I used a method of composition called the Golden Section. In this way, elements placed within the picture incorporate an integral harmony. The essentially mathematical proportions of the composition, however, needed to be offset by a freedom in the use of colour, which was applied with gestural marks, flowing into each other to create a kind of glow within the picture.

The colours themselves draw on tradition to symbolise the three natures of God:

· gold for the eternal realm, and God the Father
· red for the sacrificial heart of the Son
· and green for the creative Spirit.

My intention is always to find a depth and a reality in the final work that's not merely an illusion but embodies a real presence. Completing a painting is an organic process where I realise in the final work something I can only see through actually doing it. On the way, I draw as deeply and freely as I can on imagination, memory and experience, though how any artwork captures something essential and real must ultimately remain a mystery.

I often listen to music when I'm working. I choose it to reflect the overall sense of the subject I'm dealing with. A good example might be Howells' Hymnus Paradisi. I played this whilst working on 'Consolation of Tears', which I'll be referring to in a little more detail shortly. Howells described this piece as being 'called into being' at a time of overwhelming grief following the death of his only son. Strangely, after I had completed and named 'Consolation', I discovered that Howells has used exactly the same word to describe how he felt in composing this piece.

Listening to music also helps in the process of trying to lose myself in the work. When inspiration is flowing well, it's as if the image develops by itself in front of me. Perhaps a writer would say something similar of a character in a novel, in which he or she takes on a life of their own, and almost dictates the path that the story must take.

The picture is telling me something - I'm engaged in the work as its first viewer. As a mother, I hope you'll excuse this analogy, but it does feel like watching a new life emerge. My job is partly to nurture its evolution, whilst trying to remain sufficiently detached to avoid taking over.

Prayer is also an integral part of the process. It's a foundation stone at the start of a piece of work, providing the inspiration and the vision. Prayer is also where I turn when things get stuck. It's the way in, the way through, and the destination.

My husband's a priest, and I was very struck some years ago when he described his desire to become 'transparent' when in a sacramental role, such as celebrating the Eucharist. This transparency opens up a space in which the people are in communion with God. A 'successful' piece of work in my own terms would achieve the same quality of transparency.

Once I feel the work is complete - as with any piece of art - it's handed over to others. What happens in their response is another part of the mystery.

I've attempted to explain something of the dialogue between the artist and her work. Now the dialogue is continued in an entirely new context.