My practice blends drawing, printmaking, acrylics, inks, and dry media. Much of my work is inspired by an ongoing exploration of Ayrshire's landscapes, folklore, wildlife, and local history. Through research, walking, observation, and community engagement, I seek to uncover stories and connections that inform the themes, imagery, and narratives within my artwork.

I’ve exhibited across Scotland, London, northern England, and Italy, with several solo shows. My work is held in private collections around the world, from the USA to Thailand.

Alongside my studio work, I lead art workshops in schools, charities, and community settings, sharing creative skills and encouraging artistic exploration. I work from my studio at Narture CIC in Ayr—a welcoming, inclusive creative hub open to all.

In 1576, Bessie Dunlop, a healer from Ayrshire, was tried for witchcraft at the High Court of Justiciary in Edinburgh. Known locally as a “wise woman,” she treated people and animals with herbal remedies, claiming that her knowledge came with the guidance of a spirit named Thom Reid. According to her testimony, Reid was the ghost of a soldier who had died in battle thirty years before Bessie was born. He first appeared to her during a time of grief and illness, and she said he became her constant companion, advising her on cures and foretelling events in her life.

During her interrogation, Bessie also spoke of encounters with the Queen of Elfhame, a supernatural ruler of the fairies often described in Scottish folklore. She claimed to have been invited into the fairy court and described visions of its splendour. Though she was never accused of harming anyone, her admission of spirit-contact, fairy meetings, and herbal healing was enough to secure a conviction for witchcraft. Bessie Dunlop was executed later that year, her story now remembered as one of the most detailed and vivid accounts of Scottish witch trials and their deep entanglement with folklore.

During the Scottish witch trials of the 16th and 17th centuries, torture was frequently used to extract confessions. One recorded method involved suspending accused women above open flames or hot coals, forcing them to endure extreme heat and smoke without immediate death. The purpose was to weaken their resistance, cause pain, and coerce them into admitting dealings with the Devil or naming supposed accomplices. This practice was not formally legal under Scottish law but was often sanctioned by local authorities or kirk sessions under the pressure of panic and suspicion.

Historical records describe other brutal techniques used alongside fire torture, such as sleep deprivation, the use of thumbscrews or iron casings called “boots”, and pricking with needles to find the “devil’s mark.” Accounts survive from trial records and later chronicles, showing that such measures were common in areas like Ayrshire, Fife, and Edinburgh. The use of flames specifically reflected a cultural association of witchcraft with fire, both as a means of punishment and as a way to symbolically “purify” the accused. These practices reveal the extreme fear and cruelty that characterised Scotland’s witch persecutions.

In 1576, after her trial at the High Court of Justiciary, Bessie Dunlop of Dalry was sentenced to death for the crimes of “sorcery, witchcraft and incantation.” Like many accused during Scotland’s witch trials, she was not charged with causing harm, but with her claimed contact with spirits — particularly the ghostly Thom Reid and the Queen of Elfhame.

Her execution followed the standard Scottish practice of the time: she was strangled at the stake and then her body burned to ashes. This grim fate was shared by hundreds of others during the period, reflecting the fear and suspicion that surrounded folk healing, visions, and the supernatural in 16th-century Scotland.

This artwork is part of the work that I made when I was researching Bessie Dunlop. The inscription relates to a form of torture "scored abure the breath" (Scots) meaning cut above the mouth. Between the mid-16th and early 18th centuries, Scotland witnessed a series of witch trials that were among the most severe in Europe. Following the Witchcraft Act of 1563, which made both the practice of witchcraft and consulting with witches capital crimes, thousands of people were accused. Many of these cases were driven by social tensions, local disputes, or personal misfortunes blamed on supposed supernatural causes. Interrogations often involved torture or coercion, leading to confessions that mixed everyday healing practices with claims of pacts with the Devil or encounters with the fairy realm.

It is estimated that between 3,000 and 4,000 people were accused of witchcraft in Scotland, and around two-thirds of those accused were executed, most commonly by strangulation and burning. Women made up the majority of the accused, though men were also tried. The witch trials left a lasting mark on Scottish history, shaping folklore, community memory, and cultural attitudes toward magic, healing, and belief. Today, they are remembered as both a tragic episode of persecution and a revealing window into Scotland’s religious and social history.

Maggie Osborne is a figure from Ayr folklore whose story appears in multiple poems, prose accounts, and local tradition. She is often described as a woman of Ayr who kept an inn, was allegedly the daughter of the Laird of Fail, and who practiced the “black arts” or witchcraft. In legend, she is said to have flown at night to Galloway with imps, turned ale sour, afflicted cattle, caused storms to wreck ships, or used transformations and enchantments. One tale claims she built her house overnight with the devil’s help. She was said to be able to shape-shift including taking the form of a cat.

What is less clear, however, is how much of Maggie Osborne’s story is historical fact. There are no surviving court records confirming a trial or execution of a woman by that name in Ayr, though some sources suggest that a Margaret Wallace (possibly an Osborne by association) was executed in 1629. Many of the stories about Maggie appear to emerge in the 19th century, blending oral tradition, literary embellishment, and folklore rather than verified legal records.

In Scottish and wider British folklore, witch hares were believed to be witches who had transformed themselves into the shape of a hare. This was thought to give them speed and stealth, allowing them to slip into farmyards, steal milk from cows, or damage crops without being detected. Hares were also considered liminal creatures — darting between wild and settled land — which made them natural symbols of the supernatural.

Stories often tell of hares being chased and wounded, only for a local woman to be found later bearing the same injury, revealing her as the witch in disguise. In Ayrshire and across Scotland, these tales reflected both fear and fascination with the idea of shapeshifting, and they reinforced the suspicion that ordinary women could harbour dangerous hidden powers. Witch hares remain one of the most vivid examples of how everyday animals became bound up with superstition and storytelling in rural communities.

In Ayrshire folklore, there’s a belief that during harvest time, the last sheaf cut from a field was called “the hare” (or “hair”) — this comes from South Ayrshire harvest traditions. In those same areas, people said that witches could change themselves into hares, slipping among the sheaves or in fields at dusk.

This idea connected the harvest ritual (“cutting the hare”) with tales of supernatural shape-shifting: the witch-hare figure in Ayrshire acted as both symbol and warning — of the unseen, of the potential for harm, or of hidden presence in the countryside. Though such stories were passed on orally and lightly recorded, they help show how the figure of the witch-hare was woven into the everyday life and fears of rural communities in Ayrshire.

Digital collage

The Black Dog of Glenapp is a well-known figure in Ayrshire folklore, said to haunt the remote Glenapp area near Ballantrae. Like many “black dog” legends across Britain, it is described as a large, dark, and ghostly hound with glowing eyes, appearing suddenly to travellers or those walking alone. These spectral dogs are often considered omens of misfortune or death, and the Glenapp black dog carries that same fearsome reputation in local storytelling.

Accounts of the Black Dog of Glenapp emphasize its mysterious and sometimes malevolent nature. Some stories describe it silently following people through the glen, while others speak of it appearing at night on lonely roads or near old ruins. The legend reflects broader Scottish beliefs about spirits, guardian animals, and liminal spaces — places where the natural and supernatural meet. Today, it continues to inspire tales, artworks, and local imagination, keeping the dark charm of Ayrshire folklore alive.

Knockdolion Castle stood near the water of Girvan, with a black rock at the end of it.  A mermaid used to come from the water at night, and taking her seat upon this stone, would sing for hours, at the same time combing her long hair.  The lady of Knockdolion found that this serenade was an annoyance to her baby, and she thought it proper to attempt getting rid of it, by causing the stone to be broken by her reluctant servants. The mermaid, coming next night, and finding her favourite seat gone, sang thus–

“Ye may think on your cradle–I’ll think on my stane;
And there’ll never be an heir to Knockdolion again.”

Soon after, the cradle was found overturned, and the baby dead under it. It is added that the family soon after became extinct.