🐎 The Fire Horse

The Little Girl Who Thought She Could Never Be an Artist

My mum thought there was a burglar in the house.

It was midnight. She heard creaking in the hallway and slowly walked toward the sound, heart pounding. When she turned the corner, she found me — five years old, in a white nightie — riding my brown rocking horse in the dark. I wasn’t afraid. I was free.

When I was five, there was a small oil painting of a brown horse’s head hanging in our lounge room. My mum painted it. Every time I walked past, I stopped. The horse felt alive. The eyes followed me. Something in me stirred. 

My mum can create anything. She is magnificent. And I believed art belonged to her.

That Christmas, my parents bought my sister Helen and me a brown rocking horse with thick hair, a white diamond on his forehead, and deep red leather reins. I rode him constantly. Sometimes in the living room. Sometimes in the basement. And sometimes — apparently — in the middle of the night.

That horse was more than a toy. He was possibility.

A couple of years later, my parents separated. On his weekends with us, my dad would ask what we wanted to do. “Horse riding!” Helen and I would shout in unison. He would drive us ninety minutes from Melbourne to Rye Horse Riding School. I remember the smell of leather, the shortening of stirrups for my tiny legs, the first moment a horse began to move beneath me. I learned to trot. I even cantered a couple of times. I felt tall. Safe. Connected. Free.

We told our dad that when we grew up, we would own a stud farm. But life had other plans.

At fourteen, I decided to become a psychologist. I studied hard. I worked. I built a career. I ran a dance school for thirteen years. Dance carried me through a painful divorce. Yoga steadied me on the other side.

Creativity was always there — I drew horses endlessly — but I believed art was still my mother’s domain. She had natural talent whereas mine felt clunky. 

So I worked. For twenty-five years, I immersed myself in complex psychology work in drug and alcohol, witnessing intergenerational trauma. I wove creativity in when I could, but slowly, quietly, I began to feel like a workhorse. Strong. Reliable. Carrying weight.

And yet there was a pull. A growing ache in the depths of my soul. A whisper that said, This is not all of you.

At the Children’s Hospital at Westmead, I collaborated with artists in the youth arts program. I would walk into the art room and say, half joking, “When I grow up, I want to be an artist.” They would say, “You already are.” But I didn’t believe them. Not like my mum. Until the end of 2023. I reached breaking point.

With the encouragement of my loving family, friends and my partner, I made a decision that terrified me. I took a year off work and threw myself headfirst into art. I didn’t want to die not knowing what it felt like to claim this.

Around that time, I discovered Ellie Milan and the Milan Art Institute. She painted horses, mermaids, birds, light and water like I always dreamed to emulate. She said something that cracked open a belief I had held my entire life: Talent isn’t fixed. It can be learned. So I picked up the oil paints — something I had long feared but deeply desired to master. I worked long hours and completed the year long art mastery program with every ounce of enthusiasm within me.

The brown horse began appearing in my dreams and meditations, like a guide. In one vision, he carried me toward the pyramids. I thought of The Alchemist — of the child discovering his personal legend. Mostly, he just looked at me with a reassuring gaze.

I realised nothing in my life had been wasted. The psychology. The dance. The grief. The healing. All of it had prepared me. I wasn’t behind. I was unfolding with divine timing. 

And from that place, this collection was born.

Each horse carries a part of that journey — devotion, instinct, resilience, longing, strength. They are not just animals to me. They are symbols of something I have been circling my whole life.

At the centre of it stands The Fire Horse.

The Fire Horse is not loud courage. It is the quiet remembering of what you have always loved. It is the moment you stop postponing your deepest desires. The moment you say, gently but firmly, Yes. This too belongs to me.

When I say this collection is my stud farm, I don’t mean land or fences. I mean that the childhood wish was never really about owning horses. It was about freedom. It was about waking up and feeling alive in my own life. It was about creating without apology. And somehow, in the most unexpected way, that wish has been fulfilled.

Not by abandoning everything I built — but by allowing all of it to lead me here.

The Fire Horse year, for me, is not about force or speed. It is about remembering. Remembering what you loved before the world told you to be practical. Remembering the dream that still lives quietly inside you. Remembering that it is never too late.

I feel deep reverence for my mum, who first showed me what creation looked like. My dad, who gave me the opportunity to embody the power of the horse. Gratitude for the years of work that shaped me. Humility for the courage it took to surrender. And joy — the kind of joy that feels spacious and free.

If there is something in you that has been waiting… a longing you have tucked away. May this Year of the Fire Horse help you remember it. May it help you trust it. And may you ride, gently but bravely, toward the life that has been waiting for you.

This is a wish fulfilled. And I hope it inspires you to honour yours.

A Studio Exhibition, A Childhood Dream, and a Wild Afternoon of Art

On Sunday 15th of February, my home studio was filled with horses, laughter, colour, and community.

What began as a childhood longing quietly unfolded into something real — a gathering to welcome the Year of the Fire Horse, surrounded by original equine artworks, dear friends, and kindred spirits.

And I didn’t miss the symbolism. There was a time when I could never imagine standing in my own studio, surrounded by my own horse paintings.

A Studio Filled With Horses

Sunday felt like a gentle but powerful full circle. I was honoured to collaborate with the incredibly talented Luna Alwadie, whose equine artworks brought depth, strength and beauty to the exhibition. Seeing our horses side by side felt natural — like a shared language expressed in different dialects.

See our reel here from the day.

The afternoon unfolded in the most delightful way. There were refreshments and conversations that lingered. Guests painted their own small Fire Horses. Temporary horse tattoos adorned wrists and arms. A playful rodeo station appeared — complete with a pink cowboy hat and a horse head-on-a-stick toy that brought out my inner child. See the fun here.

It felt like a welcoming.

The Fire Horse

At the centre of the collection stands The Fire Horse.

This piece carries the energy of remembering — remembering what you loved before practicality took over, remembering the desire that never really left.

I wrote a poem for this painting:

Fire Horse

Enter the stallion and the mare —
Unrestrained, fierce, untamed souls.

A flame born of smouldering embers,
Coaxed by the striking of coals.

Sharp breath awakens forgotten promises,
Heat surging beneath the ribs.

Wrangling fear — water to fire —
Sparks leap from skin to skin.

Bare backs. Wild manes.
They reclaim what was never lost.

Their fire ablaze.
Their power ignited.
Their freedom aflame.

The Fire Horse is not about aggression.

It is about ignition.

It is about the quiet moment when you stop postponing your own becoming.

A Wish Fulfilled

As I stood in my studio on Sunday, watching people connect with the work, I felt something spacious and deeply true. The little girl who once believed she could never be as good an artist as her mum had finally come home to herself.

This collection is my stud farm.

Not land with fences — but a life without them.

I painted my own fields.
I created my own horizon.

And sharing that with others — in laughter, paint-stained fingers, and pink cowboy hats — felt like the most joyful way to welcome the Year of the Fire Horse.

The Collection Is Now Available

For those who feel drawn to bring this energy into their own spaces, the collection is now available at popiart.com.

Available now:

• Original equine art oil paintings

• Framed and unframed canvas prints of The Fire Horse and other equine art from the collection

• The Wild Child t-shirt in many choices of colour

  

• The Transcendent Love cross-body bag with the horse and eagle

Each piece carries the spirit of this season — strength, instinct, courage, and freedom.

As we step into this Year of the Fire Horse, may we release what keeps us small and ride boldly toward who we are becoming.

Thank you to Luna for her beautiful collaboration. Thank you to everyone who came, supported, laughed, painted, and celebrated. And thank you for being part of this journey. Share this with your frineds and fellow horse lovers to spread the inspiration.

The fire has been lit. 🐎🔥