We sit down with contemporary British painter, Rachel Bottomley to discuss her textural paintings that feature in our current Watts Contemporary Gallery exhibition, The Spirit of Charleston.

As a primarily self-taught artist, what were the biggest challenges and rewards in developing your practice? How did the Turps Art School Correspondence Course influence your evolution as a painter?

As a self-taught artist, the journey was both challenging and rewarding. The most significant challenge was developing a unique voice without formal guidance, relying on intuition and observation. However, this freedom allowed for creative exploration, and being able to discover my own artistic language at my own pace. The Turps Art School Correspondence Course further refined my practice by providing critical insight into my process, deepening my understanding of composition and technique while still allowing me to maintain my personal style. My mentors encouraged me to explore new avenues and experiment with different approaches to my work—ideas I continue to develop and integrate into my practice today.

You mention 'observation, imagination, and memories' as the foundation of your work. How do you balance these three elements in your creative process? Is there one that tends to lead the others?

Observation is often the starting point—whether it’s the details of nature, a fleeting moment, or a colour combination hat catches my eye. Imagination takes over to expand on what I’ve seen, creating scenes that go beyond reality. Memories come into play when I want to evoke a specific feeling or personal connection. There is no strict order, but observation often leads, as it grounds the piece in something tangible, while imagination and memories help it to turn into something more emotional.

Living in the Surrey countryside, how does the landscape and environment directly influence your use of colour, texture, and subject matter? Are there specific elements of Surrey that consistently appear in your work?

The natural beauty of Surrey definitely influences my colour choices and textures. The rich greens of the countryside, the delicate blues of the sky, and the soft browns of the earth all find their way into my palette. The changing seasons and the way light interacts with the landscape inspire me to explore different moods and energies in my work. Specific elements like local flowers and the surrounding foliage often feature in my paintings, adding a personal connection to the land.

Your paintings celebrate the 'richness and joy of everyday life.' What is it about the ordinary that captivates you, and how do you transform it into something extraordinary on canvas?

The ordinary is often overlooked, yet it is in these small, everyday moments that true beauty lies. I find immense joy in capturing these simple moments—like the curve of a flower petal or patterns on tiles I've walked upon. I am like a magpie, drawn to colour and detail that I take back to my nest and make my own. By focusing on these details and weaving them into my paintings, I fill them with hidden treasures that bring comfort, nostalgia and curiosity, inviting the viewer to see the world through a different lens.

Having your work included in the Royal Collection is a significant achievement. How did that experience impact your perspective on your art and your career?

Being included in the Royal Collection was a humbling and affirming experience. It helped me see that my art can resonate with people across different walks of life and recognition of the personal nature of my work.

You mention flowers having 'individual personalities.' How do you translate these personalities into your paintings? Are they anthropomorphized, or are you capturing a more subtle essence?

I have a love affair with flowers - they wink at me with their own personalities! I aim to capture the essence of each flower, focusing on its unique character rather than anthropomorphizing it. Each flower has its own shape, colour, and energy, and I try to capture their spirit in my paintings. Whether it’s the boldness of a sunflower or the delicacy of a lily, I try to express their individuality through careful observation and emotion. The way they make me feel is translated onto paper using a variety of media, through a mixture of exaggerated strokes and detailed mark making.

You speak of 'layering and balancing tension and harmony.' Can you elaborate on the specific challenges and discoveries you encounter during this process? How do you know when a piece has achieved that balance?

Layering is both a physical and emotional process in my work. The challenge lies in balancing different elements—such as colour, pattern, and form—so that they coexist without one overwhelming the other. Each component holds its own presence, but when placed in contrast with another, reveals something new and unseen. Achieving harmony means the piece feels complete, yet dynamic. It’s a constant dialogue between elements, and I know it’s right when I feel a sense of balance and energy in the composition. The painting just pops!

You embrace a variety of media, from pastels to oil sticks. Do you choose media based on the specific subject, or is it more about the emotional or energetic quality you wish to convey?

I choose my medium based on the emotional quality I want to evoke in the work. Some subjects, like delicate flowers, may require the soft application of pastels, while others need the boldness of oil sticks. Each medium offers a different way to engage with the subject, and I enjoy the freedom to experiment with how they enhance the energy of the piece. It’s a very tactile and immersive experience - I love the way different media feels in my hands and lines are created with my whole body engaged. I savour the sensory experience of dusting pastels, gliding brushes, smearing oil sticks and dashing pencils into dynamic marks and intricate details.

If your art were a sensory experience beyond the visual, what would it feel, smell, sound, and taste like?

My art would feel textured and layered—like the softness of petals brushing against your skin or the subtle roughness of woven fabric. It would smell like the earthy freshness of flowers just beginning to bloom, light and natural. The sound would be gentle, like the quiet rustle of leaves in a breeze. And the taste would be crisp and clean, like the cool, refreshing air of an early morning.

If you could give one piece of advice to aspiring self-taught artists, what would it be?

Trust your instincts, embrace the journey and try to ignore the negative voice in your head. Being self-taught means there is no one path, so allow yourself the freedom to explore and experiment. Don’t be afraid to make mistakes, as they often lead to the best discoveries in your work. Stay true to your vision and try your best to enjoy the process.