A Creative Calling That Arrived Unexpectedly
Unlike many artists, Lora didn't grow up knowing she wanted to create.
In fact, she had little interest in art as a child.
It wasn't until she attended lessons with a local artist at around twelve years old that something shifted. The experience sparked a fascination that would quietly shape the rest of her life.
Yet despite her passion, confidence did not come easily.
Lora shared openly about spending much of her creative life wrestling with self-doubt.
At one point in our conversation she laughed and said:
"I don't have imposter syndrome. I know I'm an artist. I just think I'm a bad artist."
I suspect many creative women will recognise themselves in those words.
The desire to create and the doubt that accompanies it often seem to travel together.
The Ancient Art of Egg Tempera
For those unfamiliar with egg tempera, it is one of the oldest painting techniques in history.
Pigments are mixed with egg yolk to create paint, which is then applied in countless translucent layers onto a specially prepared surface.
The process is slow.
Deliberate.
Patient.
Each layer must dry before the next can be applied.
Listening to Lora describe the process, I couldn't help but think about how often creativity asks the same of us.
Patience.
Trust.
The willingness to continue even when we cannot yet see the finished picture.
Perhaps that is part of why certain mediums resonate so deeply with particular artists.
Sometimes we are drawn not only to what we create, but to the lessons the creative process itself teaches us.
When Life Becomes Art
Alongside her artistic practice, Lora built a career as a nurse.
Initially, nursing was simply a practical decision.
A way to support herself financially.
But over time, the people she cared for and the experiences she witnessed began to find their way into her paintings.
Stories of illness.
Disability.
Resilience.
Loss.
Human dignity.
Moments that touched her deeply became the seeds of future artworks.
This is something I often see in my own work and in the work of the women I support.
Many of our most meaningful creative ideas don't arrive from searching for inspiration.
They emerge from paying attention.
From noticing what moves us.
From remaining curious about the experiences that leave an imprint on our hearts.
Our lives become the source material.
The Fragility of Life
One of my favourite moments in the conversation came when we began discussing the colours within Lora's paintings.
I noticed that many of the skin tones reminded me of eggshells.
Soft whites.
Pale blues.
Muted creams.
Gentle variations that echoed the natural beauty of eggs.
Lora admitted this had never been a conscious choice.
Yet as we explored the idea together, another possibility emerged.
What if the eggshell itself had become an unconscious symbol?
A reflection of the fragility of the human experience.
The delicate nature of life.
The vulnerability we all carry.
It was one of those beautiful moments that creativity often offers us—when meaning reveals itself unexpectedly, even to the artist.
Creativity Through Every Season
One of the themes that surfaced repeatedly throughout our conversation was the idea that creativity evolves alongside us.
There have been seasons when art occupied the centre of Lora's life.
And seasons when other priorities demanded more of her attention.
Most recently, writing and publishing her memoir required her to step away from painting for almost a year.
At first she resisted it.
Then she adapted.
Then she almost convinced herself she no longer needed to paint at all.
Until one day she realised something was missing.
Returning to her painting practice felt like turning a light back on.
Not because it solved every problem.
Not because the self-doubt disappeared.
But because it reconnected her with an essential part of herself.
I think many creative women know this feeling.
The quiet knowing that creativity is not simply something we do.
It is part of who we are.
A Gentle Reminder
Perhaps the most important takeaway from this conversation is that creativity doesn't need to be grand to be meaningful.
When I asked Lora what advice she would offer someone wanting to reconnect with their creativity, her answer was beautifully simple.
Start small.
Play.
Even five minutes is enough.
Sometimes we imagine we need hours of uninterrupted time before we can create.
But often what we need most is simply permission to begin.
A few playful moments.
A little curiosity.
A willingness to show up.
Because you never know what unexpected companion might be waiting to meet you there.
