What is my greatest passion in my work?
Colour and light, and the stories they can tell if you let them. I spent years chasing light as a photographer, and now I chase it again with oils, the way it moves across water, the way it falls on a memory. Painting lets me slow down enough to notice what I would have missed with a camera. My strongest desire is turning a feeling that has no words yet into something someone walks away looking at nature, or even themselves, a little differently, then I’ve succeeded.
What is my greatest fear?
My greatest fear isn’t failing or growing older. It’s reaching the end of my life knowing I held something back. Time has become the central theme of my paintings because it someone else can stand in front of and recognise. Although my greatest passion isn’t really painting. It’s encouraging people to see beauty where they least expect to find it. Sometimes that happens through eroded sandstone, sometimes through a waterlily pond, and even through the story behind a painting. If has taught me that every year is a gift. I don’t fear wrinkles nearly as much as I fear looking back and realising I played life too safely. I don’t want to leave this world with paintings that were never painted, stories that were never written or ideas that remained trapped inside my head because I was too afraid of judgment or rejection. I want to know that I used whatever creativity I was given to make the world a little more beautiful, thoughtful and hopeful. That, to me, is a life well lived. I have already begun again, reinvented myself more than most people get the chance to, and each time it has asked more courage, not less. My fear isn’t failure; I have made peace with that old friend. It’s stopping too soon, before the book is written and the paintings that are still only whispers become worlds. I would rather be remembered for creating boldly; I never stayed invisible.
What do I love most about my work?
What I love most about my work is that it gives everyday purpose. I wake up excited about what I might create next, whether I’m planning a new painting, writing another chapter of my book, Nine Lives of an Artist, or preparing for an exhibition. Creativity has introduced me to extraordinary people who challenge, encourage and inspire me, and I love sharing ideas with artists and collectors who genuinely connect with my work. My life has become one long creative adventure, from artist residencies on a houseboat along the Murray River to returning to the South Australian outback where I grew up, searching for inspiration in the landscapes that first shaped my imagination. At this stage of my life, I feel incredibly fortunate to be creating the art and stories I love while finding the people who love it too; I couldn’t ask for a more meaningful way to spend my days.
What is my greatest pitfall?
My greatest pitfall has been undervaluing my work, especially in the moment when someone is standing in front of a painting with their wallet in hand. Early on, I often confused making a sale with knowing my worth. I’ve had to teach myself, quite deliberately, to hold my prices and my self-belief in the same hand. One of the biggest lessons has been learning to wear two hats: Beret Penelope, the artist, and Panama Penelope, the businesswoman. If the artist starts running the business, emotions take over, and every disappointment feels like a reason to discount my work. Panama Penelope’s job is to protect the artist, make decisions based on evidence rather than emotion, and remind me that the right collector will recognise the value of the work without me shrinking to make it easier to buy.
What does the statement “Passion Never Retires” mean to me?
To me, “Passion Never Retires” means dreams don’t have an expiry date. Sometimes they simply wait patiently until we’re ready to answer them. I was a student, a single mother, a salon owner, a magazine editor, a nutritionist and an advertising photographer before I returned to painting with my whole heart. Every chapter gave me skills, resilience and stories that now find their way onto my canvas and into my writing. I don’t believe those years were a detour; they were my apprenticeship. Passion Never Retires reminds me that experience is an asset, not a limitation, and that sometimes the woman who returns to her dream later in life creates something even richer than the young girl who first imagined it.
What would I like to change about myself?
I would like to spend less time asking permission from opinions that were never mine to carry in the first place. For years, I listened too closely to what other artists, teachers and even the market thought my work should be. I faced the same challenge during my years as an advertising photographer, constantly navigating the tension between creating work that felt true to me and work that pleased everyone else. The older I become, the more I trust my own voice, although that’s still a muscle I’m strengthening. I once believed my sensitivity was a weakness and that “Beret Penelope,” my artistic self, needed to toughen up. Now I realise that sensitivity is exactly what gives my paintings and writing their emotional depth. The real breakthrough wasn’t becoming less sensitive; it was learning to let “Panama Penelope,” my business self, make the commercial decisions while protecting the artist. Wearing those two hats has brought balance to my creative life, and I suspect many artists spend years searching for that same balance.
What is my greatest professional achievement so far?
Professionally, I’ve been fortunate to experience achievements I could only have dreamed of when I first picked up a camera. I won Second Place in the World Division for Digital Fine Art Photography, received 45 awards in the Professional Division of the International Photography Awards in New York, graduated with the Dean’s Honour Award from my master’s degree at the University of Sydney, and exhibited internationally. Yet if I’m completely honest, my greatest professional achievement isn’t a trophy or a title. It’s having the courage to reinvent myself. Walking away from a successful international photography career to become an artist and writer was the biggest professional risk I’ve ever taken. Today, every painting I create, every story I write and every collector who owns my work reminds me that success isn’t just about recognition; it’s about building a creative life that is authentically your own.
Where would I most like to live and work?
I already live in a place that inspires me every day. The Central Coast of New South Wales, with its beaches, sandstone cliffs, waterlilies and ever-changing coastal light, is woven into my paintings. It’s where my Eroded Tides series was born, and I can’t imagine ever losing that connection. But I also have a deep love for France. I adore its culture, its reverence for the arts, its food, language and landscapes, and the way creativity seems to be part of everyday life. If I could choose, I would spend six months each year in Australia and six months in France. Australia is where my roots are; France is where my imagination wanders. Together, they feel like home.
What is my most distinctive characteristic?
My most distinctive characteristic is my ability to hold contradictions without needing to resolve them. I can carry grief and beauty, structure and intuition, the commercial world and the sacred feminine in the same hand. That duality appears throughout my work in gold threads, birds, weathered landscape and submerged feminine forms that feel both intimate and timeless. I am also unafraid of change. I have reinvented myself many times, not because life always unfolded as planned, but because I learnt to look for the other side of adversity and grasp it with curiosity, determination and everything I had. Perhaps that’s what happens when you stop seeing reinvention as leaving your past behind and start seeing it as carrying every version of yourself forward.
What is the place outside my home where I get my best ideas?
The shoreline, without question. Something about the rhythm of the tide going out and returning mirrors the rhythm of reinvention that runs through both my paintings and my writing. Many of my best ideas arrive when I’m not trying to have them, walking along the water’s edge with my camera phone, a sketchbook and no destination. I photograph eroded sandstone, collect ideas, make notes and observe. It’s where my mind becomes quiet enough to notice what was already there. I also find endless inspiration in art galleries, exhibitions and art festivals. Standing in front of works by historical masters, contemporary artists and emerging talent reminds me that every generation leaves its own creative fingerprint. I always leave with my creative cup full, eager to return to the studio and see where those ideas lead.
Which books have influenced my life and how?
Books have been some of my greatest teachers. My shelves are filled with art, ceramics, philosophy, Greek mythology, ancient civilisations, photography, natural health and cookbooks, and I rarely leave a bookshop empty-handed. Some taught me practical skills, like Richard Schmid’s Alla Prima II and Betty Edwards’ Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain. Others transformed the way I think about creativity, including Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way, Elizabeth Gilbert’s Big Magic and Elli Milan’s Unemployable. Books such as James Clear’s Atomic Habits, Joe Dispenza’s Evolve Your Brain and James Nestor’s Breath changed the way I think about personal growth and wellbeing, while Mariam Schulman’s Artpreneur reshaped how I approach the business of art. Victoria Finlay’s Colour and Francine Prose’s biography of Peggy Guggenheim deepened my appreciation of art history and culture. Yet the book that has stayed with me most is Joyful by Ingrid Fetell Lee. It reminded me that beauty isn’t a luxury or decoration; it has the power to change how we feel, how we connect and how we experience the world. That philosophy sits at the heart of my paintings, my writing and the life I’m still creating.
“You Only Die Once” — what music would I like to listen to on my last day?
Something with water in it; music that moves the way the tide does, unhurried and certain it will return. I’d want it to feel warm rather than mournful, the kind of music that sounds like a studio at golden hour. Whatever it is, it needs room for silence, because some of the most meaningful moments in my life have happened in the quiet between the notes, not the notes themselves. Every day in my studio, I listen to Ludovico Einaudi. His music has become part of my creative ritual, and if I had to choose one piece for my last day, it would be Nuvole Bianche. It carries both melancholy and hope, much like the landscapes I paint. I also love French music. Artists such as Stromae, Christine and the Queens and Indila have long accompanied me in the studio, alongside the ethereal beauty of Pieter de Graaf’s Waterdrops and Spiderweb’s Enchantment. They all share something I try to capture in my own work: atmosphere, emotion and space to breathe. If those melodies were playing on my last day, I think I would leave feeling grateful for a life filled with beauty, curiosity and creativity.
Who is my hero or heroine in fiction?
My first heroine has always been Penelope from The Odyssey, perhaps because she’s my namesake. She is often remembered for her loyalty to Odysseus, but I’ve always admired her intelligence, patience and quiet resilience. While others saw her as waiting, she was constantly adapting, making difficult decisions and protecting her future with remarkable wisdom. I’ve also been fascinated by Cleopatra. Beyond the myths surrounding her beauty, she was one of history’s most intelligent and politically astute women. She embraced her power, her femininity and her ambition without apology, and I’ve always admired that confidence. But if I had to choose one fictional character who has stayed with me, it would be Orlando from Virginia Woolf’s novel. It wasn’t Orlando’s change of sex that captivated me; it was the ability to keep evolving across four centuries. Every era demanded a different version of the same person, yet Orlando never stopped becoming. That idea resonates deeply with me. I’ve reinvented myself many times throughout my life, and each chapter has shaped the artist and writer I am today.
Who are my real-life heroes and heroines?
My greatest heroes aren’t necessarily famous. They are the people who begin again after forty, fifty or sixty, quietly, without a press release, because the dream simply refused to stay buried. I think of the single mothers I studied alongside at night school, the artists who returned to their craft after raising families, surviving loss or rebuilding their lives from scratch. Their courage is often unseen, yet it is extraordinary. They remind me that it’s never too late to become the person you were always meant to be. They are rarely the ones history writes about, but they are the ones I write for.
Which film would I recommend everyone to watch at least once in their lifetime?
I’m drawn to films that leave me seeing the world differently, especially those about creativity, reinvention and the resilience of the human spirit. Life of Pi is one of those films. It reminds me that truth and imagination are often intertwined, and that the stories we choose to believe shape our lives. Virginia Woolf’s Orlando has also stayed with me for years. It isn’t simply a story about identity; it’s about adapting to change across centuries and understanding that becoming is a lifelong process. I’m also captivated by films about artists because they reveal the determination behind the work. Mr. Turner, At Eternity’s Gate, Renoir, Frida, Pollock, Big Eyes, Banksy Does New York and Modì, Three Days on the Wing of Madness all remind me that great art is rarely created without struggle, curiosity and an unwavering commitment to one’s vision. If I had to recommend just one film for everyone to watch, it would probably be Life of Pi. It reminds us that life isn’t measured only by what happened, but by the meaning we choose to make from it. As an artist and writer, I find that idea endlessly inspiring.
What does the statement “I am the storyteller of my own life” mean to me?
To me, it means taking ownership of my own story instead of waiting for someone else to decide whether it’s worth telling. For years, I let gatekeepers, the galleries, critics and the market shape the narrative. Before that, I was known as an international advertising photographer. When I left that career to become a painter, some people saw it as walking away from success. I saw it as walking towards myself. Writing Nine Lives of an Artist has shown me that none of my previous lives were mistakes or detours. They were chapters. Reinvention isn’t about erasing your past; it’s about weaving every experience into the person you become. In the end, we are all the storytellers of our own lives. The question is whether we’re brave enough to write the next chapter ourselves.
What role do stories play in my life and work?
Stories are at the heart of everything I create. They’re as much a part of my work as the oils, the canvas and the brushstrokes. Every painting is an attempt to express something a straightforward sentence couldn’t hold: memory, mythology, nature, the quiet strength of the feminine and the beauty that can emerge through time and adversity. Long before I became a painter, I was telling stories through photography. Today, I simply tell them in different ways. My paintings invite people to pause and wonder, my book Nine Lives of an Artist reflects on reinvention and creativity, and my Substack gives voice to the ideas behind the work. To me, they aren’t separate careers or even separate disciplines. They are all different expressions of the same instinct: to tell stories that help people see beauty, possibility and themselves in a new way.
Which project am I most looking forward to?
I’m most looking forward to completing two bodies of work that have become deeply intertwined. The first is my book, Nine Lives of an Artist. It’s where every thread of my life- the photography career, single motherhood, reinvention, returning to university, and ultimately finding my way back to painting—comes together in one place. I hope that someone standing at their own crossroads will read it and realise it’s never too late to begin again. The second is my Eroded Tides series. Inspired by the sandstone coastline where I live, these paintings explore time, resilience and the beauty that emerges through erosion rather than despite it. They are, in many ways, the visual companion to the book. One tells the story with words; the other tells it through layers of oil paint, texture and light. Together, they express the same belief: that our lives are shaped not only by what happens to us, but by what we choose to create from it.
Who would I like Peter to invite to tell their Passion Never Retires story?
I’d love Peter to invite people who began their most meaningful chapter after a life event that most of us treat as a full stop rather than a comma. Someone who rebuilt their life after divorce, widowhood, redundancy, illness, raising a family or becoming an empty nester, and discovered a passion they never expected. Those are the stories that fascinate me. They rarely make headlines, yet they often take the greatest courage. Their passion wasn’t handed to them; it was fought for, rediscovered and chosen. Those are exactly the kinds of stories that remind the rest of us it’s never too late to begin again.
How can people contact me?
I’d love to hear from anyone who believes it’s never too late to begin again. You can find my paintings, writing and upcoming projects on my website at penelopejayne.com. I also write regularly on Substack, where I explore creativity, reinvention and the artist’s life. I’m always happy to connect through Instagram and Facebook, where I share my latest paintings, stories and life in the studio.
Penelope Jayne
Central Coast, New South Wales, Australia
Website: penelopejayne.com
Email: penelope@penelopejayne.com
Facebook: facebook.com/penelopejayneart
Instagram: instagram.com/penelopejayneart
Substack: penelopejayneart.substack.com