Day 14

Au revoir!

And just like that… it’s time to say au revoir.

The studio is empty now. My brushes are cleaned, my work is wrapped and ready to head home, and the bouquet of wildflowers I picked is quietly fading in the corner — a beautiful little metaphor for this moment.

My bags are packed, farewells are being shared, and there’s a flurry of last minute activity throughout the chateau as each artist prepares to re-enter the world beyond Orquevaux. We came as strangers but leave as friends and fellow travellers who shared something special for a brief and magical time.

I’ve painted with great joy here and tried things I never would have dared in the safety of my usual routine. I’ve made space to listen — really listen — to what my art (and my heart) wanted to say. I’ve let go of perfection and leaned into uncertainty. It hasn’t always been easy, in fact it has been excruciating at times, but I’m leaving refreshed and with a new sense of purpose.

To those of you who have followed along from the very beginning — thank you. Your encouraging comments here have meant more than you know. And to Orquevaux, its people, its swans, its stories and its light — merci et au revoir. I hope to see you again.

With love,

Robyn xx

This is the last entry in The Chateau Diaries. I hope you have enjoyed taking this journey with me. Please leave a comment below - I’d love to hear from you. Just write in your name then enter your comment as a ‘guest’.

Day 13

My People

One of the most unexpected and beautiful parts of any artist residency is the people you meet along the way. Here at Château Orquevaux, we’ve come from all over the world — different countries, different languages, different lives — but we’ve somehow landed in the same place at the same time, all bringing our own creative spark to the table.

We’re painters, writers, stay-at-home mums, dance teachers, college professors, tattoo artists — the list goes on. Some of us have degrees and long CVs. Some have none. And none of that seems to matter.

What we do have in common is a deep pull to create, to explore, to dig into the work that matters most to us. And that shared impulse builds connection faster than almost anything else.

There are moments here — over a shared meal, during a late-night studio chat, or walking the grounds with a cup of tea — when the conversation turns raw and real. We talk about the joys of our practice and the frustrations. About the paths we took to get here, and the ones we didn’t. We’re sharing our stories — some light, some heavy — and in doing that, we’re opening ourselves to one another in ways that feel rare and important.

There’s a kind of vulnerability that happens in a place like this. We’re showing our art, our writing, our inner worlds — and watching others do the same. It’s not competitive, it’s generous. And that generosity makes space for something even more special: friendship.

I’ve laughed here. I’ve cried here. I’ve listened and been heard. These people — this patchwork group of strangers-turned-friends — feel like my people. And that’s a gift I wasn’t expecting, but one I’ll carry with me long after I leave.

Art may have brought us here. But it’s the connection that’s making this place unforgettable.

With gratitude,

Robyn xx

Day 12

Open Studios & Artist Talks

Today was Open Studios and Artist Talks here at Château Orquevaux—the culminating chapter in this residency and, in many ways, the emotional heart of the experience.

The artist talks were held first. One by one, we stood before the group and tried to put into words what brought us here, what we’d hoped to uncover, and what the residency had stirred in us. Some spoke with clarity and confidence, others with tears (including me!) that took us all with them. We heard stories of grief and healing, of creative rebirth, of fear and freedom. It wasn’t a performance—it was a series of offerings, each one brave and deeply human.

As for me, I spoke of the challenges and shifts I’ve experienced—working with an injured hand, adapting my practice, leaning into a looser, more expressive style, and finding new joy and discomfort in equal measure. I spoke about my quiet garden paintings—the influence of my mother on my love for gardening and the lessons I have learned from it.

It was grounding to share this with others. The studio, usually a private, internal place, was opened up—gently, respectfully—and allowed to speak. I was proud of what I had created, not for its perfection, but for the way it marked my time here.

Beulah summing up

Sarah Jane Tart

Carla Gignilliat

Kelsey Howard

Next up: the studio visits. There’s something sacred about seeing a studio transformed for visitors. Each of us spent the morning preparing our spaces—hanging work, rearranging materials, setting out sketchbooks and reference photos, curating not just the art, but the atmosphere. The rooms spoke volumes: some neat and minimal, others alive with colour and chaos. Together they formed a patchwork of intention, exploration, and vulnerability.

The diversity of work on show was striking. There were delicate line drawings, expressive abstract canvases, striking prints, textile pieces stitched with memory, and handmade books whispering with quiet intimacy. And then there were the writers—poets, memoirists, and novelists—sharing carefully chosen excerpts, words distilled from weeks of quiet labour and personal reflection. There’s something beautiful in seeing how different creative minds respond to the same place. Château Orquevaux gives us all the same tools: time, space, silence, beauty. And yet we each carve out a completely different path through it.

Nick Angel

Alana Kinsey

Rebecca Rice

Paul Brooke

Chelsea Genereux

Beth Inman

Joshua Ryan Romero

Molly Alexander

Today, those paths converged—if only for a few hours—and we were able to witness the sum of it. It was a celebration, a reflection, and a goodbye all wrapped into one.

And tomorrow… the packing begins.

With love from Orquevaux.

Robyn xx

Day 11

Leaving A Mark

There’s something magical about making art in a place that has witnessed centuries of creative hands at work. Here at Château Orquevaux, the walls themselves seem to whisper stories of artistry — some going back hundreds of years, others created only months ago.

Some of the art that lives here is as old as the Château itself — carved wood, intricate plasterwork, timeworn floors laid by master craftsmen. These are works that were never signed, but speak clearly of the hands that made them. They are part of the very bones of this place.

But there is also a living, growing body of artwork left behind by the artists who have come through the residency program over the years. The co-directors, Ziggy Attias and Beulah Van Rensberg, have lovingly created a permanent collection in their gallery space — a celebration of the talent, vision, and vulnerability shared by the many artists who have called this place home, even just for a while.

Vanessa Stockard

Jeff Cote

Kristine Granger

Lorenzo Cardim

Art isn’t confined to the gallery either. As you wander through the estate, you’ll find pieces tucked into unexpected corners: sculptures on old barns and in the gardens, and hanging proudly in throughout the Château.. There’s work scattered throughout the village, too — this little corner of France is quietly becoming une ville d’artistes — an artist town.

Inside the Château, there’s a guest book like no other. Artists from every corner of the world have filled its pages with messages, drawings, poems, and tiny treasures — a visual diary of those who’ve passed through and left something of themselves behind. I spent time turning its pages today and was struck by the sheer joy, gratitude, and creativity captured there. It’s a book of memory and legacy.

Tasha Powell

Coco Justino

Anne Beletic

Alex Boyden

Being here makes you want to contribute to that story — not out of pressure, but from a sense of belonging. Of being part of something much bigger than yourself.

This residency isn’t just about making work for now. It’s about leaving something behind. For the Château. For the village of Orquevaux. For France. For every future artist who will walk through these doors and feel that same deep call to create.

And for ourselves, too — a quiet mark that says: I was here.

Until tomorrow…

Robyn xx

Day 10

The Rhythm of the Day

Life at Château Orquevaux is entirely self-directed. There’s no schedule, no classes, no critiques — just time, space, and freedom. Each artist here shapes the residency to suit their own rhythms and needs. For me, it’s about staying grounded in routine, while allowing room for the unexpected.

Each morning begins slowly — a stretch, a moment to take in the view, and a short walk from my guest house down to the studio. I like to open up, set out my brushes, check in with what I was working on the day before. Then I head up the hill to the château for breakfast… and most importantly, coffee.

Back in the studio, it’s time to prepare. I don’t dive in straight away — it takes a little while to really see what I’m doing. That warm-up period is essential. I spend time mixing paint, preparing medium, laying out my tools — brushes, gloves, solvent, palette, iPad, camera, paper towel. Only once all those little rituals are complete does the real work begin.

At home, I treat painting like a job. I like to start early — between 8:30 and 9am — and work through until late afternoon. But at Orquevaux, the rhythm is gentler. Breakfast is later, so I settle into the studio around 10am. I work through until lunch, take a short break, and then dive back in until the dinner bell rings at 7pm.

After that, I let it all go. Evenings are for conversation, sharing work, or maybe just an early night. It’s a balance — solitude and connection, quiet and community. And somehow, this place makes it all feel easy.

There’s something powerful in shaping your days with intention, especially in a place so dedicated to artistic growth. It’s not just about productivity — it’s about presence. And here, with the light slanting through the windows and the studio door flung open to the fields, it’s easy to remember why I do this work.

With love from Orquevaux.

Robyn xx

Day 9

Letting Go of Perfection

If you’ve followed my work for a while, you’ll know I’m a contemporary realist. I love detail. Precision. The calm control that comes from painting what I see as truly as I can manage. But one of the reasons I applied for this residency was because I knew I couldn’t keep working in that way — not right now.

I’ve come to Château Orquevaux with a painful hand injury — to my dominant hand, no less — and with it came a need to rethink how I paint, what I paint, and why I paint the way I do.

So I’ve shifted. Gently. Uneasily. Sometimes reluctantly.

Work in Progress

I’ve embraced a looser style, something that accommodates a different brush hold and puts less strain on my hand, arm, and shoulder. It’s a significant departure from the way I usually work and, truthfully, it has been both uncomfortable and scary. But this residency has offered me the space — and the permission — to try.

Here, tucked away in my studio, I’m free to experiment. To play. To make mistakes. And to keep them private if I want to. No one’s watching. No one is waiting for me to perform or explain. I’ve removed the pressure of needing to prove anything to anyone. It’s been one of the greatest gifts of this time.

And here’s the surprising thing: I’m secretly loving it. Loving the shift away from the relentless pursuit of perfection. Loving the immediacy, the energy, the suggestion rather than the statement.

But of course, the realist in me isn’t going down without a fight. I can see it creeping in — in the way I build my compositions, in the way I’m still obsessed with value and form. I’ve even noticed it in my reference wall: it’s filled with a mix of realist and impressionist works. It’s become my little reminder to myself: “Less of that. More of that.”

I can’t change my personality — and I don’t think I want to. But I can change the way I approach my work.

This week I’ve learned that loosening up doesn’t mean letting go of everything I value. It means letting go of control. Just a little. Enough to let the work breathe. Enough to let me breathe.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s where something new can begin.

With love from Orquevaux.

Robyn xx

Day 8

Denis Diderot

Every artist residency is layered — with history, with memory, with meaning. And here at Château Orquevaux, one of the most enduring presences is someone who died over two centuries ago: Denis Diderot.

You might remember his name from my post on Day 3 — philosopher, writer, Enlightenment thinker. But what you might not know is that Diderot was also the world’s first modern art critic.

That role might sound ordinary now, but at the time it was revolutionary. In the 18th century, Diderot began writing passionate, detailed reviews of the Paris Salon — not just summarising what was there, but engaging with the work. Thinking deeply. Asking questions. Talking about the why of it all. He believed art should move you. Challenge you. Speak to the human condition.

Denis Diderot

He looked at paintings the way artists hoped they would be seen — not as decoration, but as communication. And that act — taking art seriously — changed the course of art history.

There’s something powerful about being an artist here, in this place that Diderot once walked. The Château belonged to his daughter and remained in the family for generations. When co-directors Ziggy Attias and Beulah Van Rensberg took up residence, it came full circle. It feels as though this place was always meant to be a home for artists. A place where creativity is nurtured, ideas are shared, and art is honoured — just as Diderot once hoped it would be. Some might even call that serendipity.

Every artist here is wrestling with their own ideas, visions, and processes. And just like Diderot, we’re thinking deeply about the role of art in the world — how it speaks, what it offers, and why it matters.

I feel honoured to be part of that lineage, even in a small way. Honoured to be in conversation — across time — with someone who helped shape the very idea of what it means to see, to reflect, to respond.

So today’s post is a quiet thank you to Denis Diderot. For seeing art not just with his eyes, but with his mind and heart. And for leaving behind a legacy that still inspires those of us lucky enough to work beneath this roof.

With gratitude.

Robyn xx

Day 7

Inspiration

Where does inspiration come from?

IN MY STUDIO

When art imitates life.

Ask ten artists and you’ll get ten answers. For some it’s poetry. For others, it’s people, music, architecture, memory. For me, it’s always been nature. The quiet kind. The unassuming kind. The texture of a petal, the flicker of sunlight through leaves, the gentle tangle of wildflowers growing where no one told them they couldn’t.

Here at Château Orquevaux, it’s everywhere.

Every walk around the grounds is a study in colour, movement, and light. The gardens are generous, full of untamed life. I’ve wandered down dirt tracks and through meadows, and come back to the studio with arms full of inspiration — wild bouquets of daisies, aquilegias, ornamental grasses, buttercups, and Queen Anne’s lace. Some blooms I don’t even know the names of — and somehow that makes them even more magical.

My studio is slowly filling with them. Little glass jars and water cups pressed into service as makeshift vases. Each arrangement a tiny still life waiting to be interpreted in oil.

The floral-scapes I’m working on now are directly informed by what I see and feel here. I’m not just painting flowers — I’m painting atmosphere, memory, the feeling of standing in a sun-dappled field or wandering through an overgrown garden with nowhere else to be.

There’s a particular quality to the light in France that artists always talk about. Now I understand why. It’s softer here — diffused and blue-toned — without the stark harshness of the Australian sun. That gentleness changes everything. The way colours read and the way shadows fall.

I’m drinking it all in. And I’m painting as fast as my hand will allow.

Inspiration may look different for each of us, but we know it when we feel it — that little spark that says, “Pay attention. This is something worth remembering.”

Today, I’m remembering in paint.

Until tomorrow…

Robyn xx

Day 6

When Things Go Wrong

Not every painting day is a good one. Today was... not it.

I started by working back into a landscape I’ve been building up over the past few days — a painting of a garden I absolutely love. The underpainting was done late at night back in my guest house, and at the time I felt quite good about it. But the moment I brought it into the studio and saw it in proper daylight, I realised it was far too dark. I’ve spent the morning fighting to bring the light back — layer by layer, push and pull — and honestly, I’m not sure I’m going to win the battle.

It’s meant to be a painting of the garden at sunrise — soft light, pale warmth — but now it feels more like late dusk. Some people might actually prefer it that way, and maybe someone will fall in love with it just as it is, but I can’t help feeling disappointed. I wanted something a little lighter. A little brighter.

By lunchtime I decided to cut my losses for the day and try something different — just a short painting exercise to clear my head. I gave myself two hours, set a timer, and laid down some ground rules: absolutely no extension of the time limit, try a more impressionist palette, keep the brushwork loose, don’t overthink or overwork. Sounds straightforward, right?

It wasn’t.

I wiped the canvas down six times. Six. I just couldn’t find the groove. My brush felt like a stranger. Colours weren’t sitting right. Everything I tried looked wrong. And just yesterday I was writing about “getting in the zone.” Today? I was nowhere near it.

Not a great start

Eventually — after much muttering, a few deep sighs, and one more wipe-off — I did finish the exercise. And oddly enough, I’m happy with the final result. You can see it in my Instagram reel (though the time lapse glosses over the chaos — eagle eyes might just catch the jump cuts where a canvas magically resets itself!).

It’s frustrating, of course. These days are tough. But they’re also part of it — the unglamorous, awkward, essential part of being an artist. You learn more from the mess than you do from the easy wins. These little two-hour exercises, with all their false starts and scraped-back layers, are where growth happens. You get pushed and pulled in all directions — and that’s how you stretch.

So no, not every painting day is a good one. But they’re all valuable. Even the ones that leave you with more questions than answers.

With love from Orquevaux

Robyn xx

Day 5

In The Zone

Today in the studio, something shifted. I lost track of time. The paint moved more easily. The usual static of indecision faded to a low hum. When I finally looked up, hours had passed.

That’s what artists mean when we say we’re in the zone.

It’s hard to describe exactly — partly because it’s different for everyone — but it’s that elusive state where thinking and doing fall into rhythm, where the gap between your idea and your hand gets smaller. You’re no longer second-guessing every brushstroke. You’re just… painting. Responding. Listening to what the work is asking of you.

But here’s the secret: I never start the day in the zone. It takes me time — sometimes an hour or two — to get there.

There’s always a warm-up period, and for me, it’s essential. I have to sit with the work, look at it quietly, try to see what’s really in front of me and understand what needs to be done. It’s like tuning an instrument. Until I do that, the painting doesn’t make sense.

Contemplating

Often the most valuable time spent in preparation for painting

It might not look like much from the outside — just me, standing there, cup of tea in hand, staring at the canvas — but it’s in those quiet moments that everything begins. I notice where the light has shifted, where the composition needs rebalancing, what colours are pulling too much or too little. And only then do I start mixing paint, tentatively at first, until something clicks.

People sometimes think being an artist is about inspiration. But most of the time, it’s about discipline. You show up. You do the work. And sometimes — as a kind of reward — the work shows up for you too.

Can you force it? Not really.
Can you prepare the ground for it? Absolutely.

For me, the zone never arrives unless I’ve done the work to meet it halfway. And once it arrives, it’s magic. The brush feels lighter, the decisions faster. I stop thinking and start trusting. That’s when I know I’ve crossed over into that rare and wonderful flow state.

Not every day is like that. I’ve had many days that weren’t, and tomorrow might not be. But today was and I’m so grateful.

The zone is fleeting, but it’s part of what keeps us coming back. Not for glory or perfection — but for that moment when it all falls away, and it’s just you and the work.

With love from Orquevaux.

Robyn xx

Day 4

Light, Stillness & Swans

Today was a rest day — and a much-needed one.

After a slow sleep-in and a leisurely breakfast filled with lively conversation with the other creatives here. I felt myself start to soften back into my body (the stretches in the morning helped!). It’s easy to forget, when you're chasing ideas on canvas, just how physically and mentally challenging this work is. So today, I paused.

The morning was unusually lively as a marathon passed through the property — a ribbon of colour and motion cutting through this quiet valley. There was something beautiful in the contrast: the energy of runners pulsing through a landscape shaped by centuries. The past and present layered on top of each other, as they so often are in this part of the world.

The ruins

Exploring

A hungry goat

The swimming lake

Later, I wandered down the hill to the lakes. It’s impossible to overstate how peaceful this part of the château is. On the way I passed crumbling outbuildings, each one whispering its own story — worn doors, moss-covered stones, a rusted hinge left ajar. They’re slowly being restored, but even in their in-between state, they draw you in.

The hill and lake were alive with animals — goats munching in the grass, ducks darting through the reeds, and two elegant swans gliding across the water. There are chickens too, and of course, Dusty — the château’s resident cat and official overseer of all things. He’s charming, unpredictable, and utterly convinced he runs the place (and who are we to argue?).

And then there’s the light. Everyone who comes to France talks about it — but until you’re standing in it, you can’t quite grasp what they mean. It’s softer here and, to use artist language, as though everything has been washed in a glaze. Not like the often harsh light of home in Australia. This feels quieter, more considered. I can see why so many painters fall in love with it.

No painting for me today — just walking, resting, and letting thoughts percolate. Tomorrow I’ll return to the studio, but for now I’m simply letting it all soak in.

If you’d like a little glimpse of this beautiful place, I’ve posted a reel on Instagram today that takes you on a short walk around the grounds. It’s the closest I can get to bottling the magic of this place and sending it your way.

With love from Orquevaux

Robyn xx

Day 3

Footsteps through history

There’s something about Château Orquevaux that whispers to you — even when it’s silent. You feel it in the floors that creak under your feet, in the pattern of light that shifts across old stone, and in the way the mist lingers in the morning, like it’s reluctant to let go of the past.

Yesterday morning we gathered in the dining room as co-directors Ziggy Attias and Beulah Van Rensberg shared the extraordinary history of the château — and it was everything I hoped for and more. It felt like being handed the keys to a story so much bigger than ourselves.

Denis Diderot

Philosopher, art critic, co-founder of the Encyclopédie and one of the great Enlightenment minds.

Château Orquevaux was once the family estate of Denis Diderot — the 18th-century philosopher, art critic, and co-founder of the Encyclopédie. One of the great Enlightenment minds, Diderot championed reason, beauty, creativity, and curiosity — all values that still seem to echo through these halls. That this land once belonged to someone who believed so deeply in the power of ideas gives the entire residency a sense of lineage — as though every artist who passes through is part of a much longer conversation.

Of course, the château has seen darker days too. During World War II, it was occupied by Nazi forces. When they eventually retreated, they took with them many of the estate’s treasures — paintings, furniture, and other valuable items simply vanished. Some of the château’s most precious artworks were later bequeathed to the Louvre, which in turn gifted back a series of prints — quiet stand-ins for what once hung on these walls. They now hang as reminders, not only of what was lost, but of the resilience and grace of this place.

Tapestry in the Salon

Hunting trophy

Tapestry in the Salon

Part of the Gallery

The building has been rebuilt, reshaped, and reimagined across centuries — from hunting lodge to stately home, and now to artist residency — but its spirit feels intact. It’s a place layered with memory. And you can feel it — not as heaviness, but as richness.

There’s something grounding in knowing where you are — in being reminded that the work we make doesn’t just appear in a vacuum. We are always, in some way, in dialogue with what came before.

With love from Orquevaux.

Robyn xx

Day 2

A new studio, a new start

When I arrived yesterday, I walked up the long gravel path and saw it—the Château. A beautiful old building sitting among rolling green hills and quiet vineyards. It took my breath away. I actually stopped in my tracks.

The Château

View to the lake

The swimming lake

The waterfall

I’m staying in a beautiful guest house in the little village just outside the gates. Less than 70 people live here - back when the Chateau was built, workers and tenants would have resided here. My cottage, La Maison du Jardinier, aptly translates to The Gardener’s House, and is large, warm and quiet, with windows and shutters that open to the trees and birdsong. The perfect place to retreat to after long days filled with painting and conversation with other creatives.

The village

The Gardener’s House

The Gardener’s House

View from my back window

Last night, we all met for the first time—musicians, writers, poets, painters. All of us here for the same reason: to create and take two or more weeks away from everyday life and pour ourselves into our work. Everything is supplied here to allow us to focus solely on our work - and the meals are delicious. There’s even a Wine Cave to help yourself to if you’re in the mood.

This morning I finally set up my studio space in the old stables. It’s a huge space with high ceilings, thick stone walls, and light that spills in from centuries-old French doors. There’s a quiet energy to the space. Like it's held years of creative effort. I could almost feel the hum of ideas waiting for me - encouraging and intimidating in equal measure.

Doors to my stable studio

The studio - end of day

Getting organised

I started by pinning a blank canvas to the wall. Then I laid out my brushes and tubes of paint, trying to create some kind of order among the chaos of materials I brought. I stood back and looked at the empty canvas, and something inside me hesitated. I’ve been wanting to try something different—bigger brushes, looser strokes, less planning. But actually doing it felt risky.

I looked at that canvas for quite some time, then took a breath and closed my eyes as a quote from Van Gogh came to mind:
“If you hear a voice within you say, ‘You cannot paint,’ then by all means paint, and that voice will be silenced.”

I picked up the biggest brush I had and made the first mark.

Just like that, the silence broke.

Panel 1 Drawn up

Panel 1 Underpainting

Panel 2 Drawn up

Panel 2 Underpainting

Here’s the progress from my day - drawing up and the beginnings of an underpainting. A long way to go but a good start. What do you think?

More photos are available in my story on Instagram. You can view that HERE.

Until tomorrow…

Robyn xx

Day 1

On my way to Château Orquevaux

Right now, I’m sitting on a train, watching the French countryside roll past in a blur of green fields and quiet villages. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this kind of green in Australia, with field after field an intense emerald green that takes your breath away. Spring is about to merge into summer and trees are laden with lime green leaves and pink buds. Absolutely beautiful!

I’m finally on my way to Château Orquevaux, a small village in the Champagne Ardenne region, where I’ll spend the next two weeks as Artist in Residence.

I’ve had two weeks to get used to being in France. My husband and I landed in Paris, a little bleary-eyed after the long flight from Australia. We didn’t rush this first real holiday in six years. We took our time, let the jet lag wear off, and wandered slowly through the Loire Valley—eating goat cheese and strawberries from markets (with the obligatory baguette, of course!), walking through exquisite gardens, and staying in the historic Château des Arpentis in Amboise.

It was exactly the kind of soft landing I needed. A chance to breathe, reset, and let my artist brain wake up.

Now, I’m heading off on my own. My husband has headed home, and I’ve packed my canvas, sketchbooks, and a few too many tubes of oil paint. It feels both exciting and slightly surreal. The kind of thing you talk about for months and then suddenly—it’s here.

I’m so excited to start painting. I had so many ideas for possible projects before I left but really wanted to respond to this place itself and let the surrounding tell me what needed to be made. And it has. Visits to the gardens at Giverny, Chedigny, Châteaux d’Amboise, Chenonceau and Chaumont-sur-Loire have provided all the inspiration I needed and now all I want to do is paint.

So here I am. Rolling through Champagne country with a sketchbook in my bag and paint on my shoes. Day one. A fresh page.

Thanks for coming along with me. Feel free to leave a comment - I’d love to hear from you. If you’d like to see my work and find out a little more about me and my process, please explore my website. Better still, why not subscribe to my newsletter? My VIP subscribers are the first to see new work, and have access to competitions, giveaways and events.

Until tomorrow…

Robyn xx