The Second Chapter : Interview with Tara Harris (English ver.)

The eleventh conversation in our series, The Artist’s Muse, introduces Tara Harris, a painter who translates subconscious thoughts and emotions into beautifully abstracted landscapes. Guided by intuition, movement, and instinct, she creates what she describes as "inner terrains" rather than literal depictions of specific places. In her work, environments are fluid and transitional, allowing forms to naturally shift, dissolve, and reconfigure on the canvas.

Tara’s journey back to her artistic practice is deeply rooted in her personal history. After a thirty-year pause spent working as a teacher and caring for her family, a spontaneous afternoon drawing with charcoal in a friend's studio reawakened her creative drive. Later, the grief of losing her father transformed this renewed interest into a daily practice of healing and mental restoration. Encouraged by early explorations into surrealist mark-making, she gradually stepped away from photographic references to fully embrace the freedom of the unexpected.

For Tara, the act of painting is a quiet negotiation—pulling certain forms forward while gently wiping others away. She approaches her canvas without a predetermined sketch, finding a quiet satisfaction in solving the visual puzzle as it unfolds. In ongoing bodies of work like her Talking Landscapes series, her environments become carriers of thought and memory, softly touching upon themes of ecological tension and human connection through the personification of nature.

Rather than offering a fixed narrative, Tara’s paintings function much like Rorschach blots. They hold a psychological openness that invites viewers to project their own memories and emotions onto the canvas, creating a deeply personal and unique encounter with the artwork.

We invite you to step into the intuitive and restorative artistic journey of Tara Harris, where the canvas serves as a welcoming space for quiet reflection, healing, and the gentle exploration of our inner worlds.

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Q. Thank you for joining us today—it's wonderful to meet you. I'd love to begin by hearing about you and your practice. How would you introduce yourself as an artist, and what work are you currently engaged with? 


A. My practice is rooted in an intuitive approach to painting, where instinct, movement, and subconscious thought guide both process and imagery. I work primarily with abstracted landscapes that act as inner terrains rather than descriptions of specific places. These environments are often fragmented and transitional, allowing forms to shift, dissolve, and reconfigure as the painting develops.

My influences stem from surrealist approaches to mark-making and automatism, alongside a long-standing interest in how landscape can function as a psychological or emotional space. Titles often play an active role, shaping narratives that emerge during the making.

Cool Breeze

Q. What is the main source of inspiration for your current work? When did this particular muse first become meaningful to you, and can you describe that initial encounter?

A. My muse is rooted in an intuitive approach to painting. Initially, I worked mainly from photographs I had taken, occasionally allowing space for intuitive painting during weekly sessions with a friend. This balance between reference and intuition shaped my early practice.

A significant shift occurred when I received a commission to create a surreal artwork inspired by Emmy Bridgewater. That experience encouraged me to be braver, using automatic marks and trusting instinct over reference. It marked a turning point in how I approached making, opening up a more exploratory and less controlled way of working.

Through this process, I discovered a preference for creating inner worlds rather than describing external scenes. Since then, intuition has become central to my practice, guiding both process and imagery, and allowing the work to emerge from subconscious thought rather than from planned composition.

Q. When you first discovered this source of inspiration, what emotions did you experience? How did it change your artistic direction or working methods afterward?

A. During a friend’s garden party, I asked if I could look at her art studio. Inside, it was like a treasure trove, a sweet shop, a place where creation was taking place and I had an overwhelming feeling to create. She generously rolled out a huge sheet of paper and handed me some charcoal sticks, and I drew instinctively for two hours and what emerged was a strange, unfamiliar landscape.

The act of creating left me with an urge to do it again. Looking back, I recognise this as a turning point. After a gap of thirty years—spent working as a teacher and caring for my family—I had found my way back to art.

At first, I painted once a week at my friend's studio enjoying the process of playing with paint. Then my father died and the momentum of grief was a catalyst to create daily. I now paint most days; it helps me heal from loss of loved ones and resets my mind. 

I’m Looking at the View, Close to the Edge

Q. How does your muse typically appear to you—as visual images, sounds, spatial feelings, or particular emotions? Could you describe its specific characteristics or qualities in detail?

A. My muse emerges through loose, instinctive marks made with paint. The process is about pulling forms forward and wiping others away, a constant negotiation. I describe my critical thinking as quite binary—I either respond to the visual energy or I don’t. This way of working gives me a strong sense of creative control. Solving a painting feels like completing a jigsaw puzzle, bringing a quiet satisfaction when it resolves. Unlike a puzzle, though, there is no image or sketch to begin with. It is the element of the unexpected that excites me and keeps me wanting to create.

Q. Could you walk us through one specific work that you feel most powerfully embodies your muse? What was the journey from initial inspiration to finished piece, and what challenges or discoveries emerged along the way?

A. In Teetering – A Landscape on the Edge, I discovered that I could think about the direction of a landscape differently. The painting began in a conventional format, with the sky at the top and the land beneath. As I worked, I turned the painting around repeatedly to free myself from a fixed image and allow new possibilities to emerge.

Titles often play an active role in shaping the direction of my work. This title came to me as soon as I saw the sky positioned on the left-hand side. From that shift, a narrative of a busy world existing at the edge of space and time began to form.

I leaned into this idea, as it connects to my ongoing series of Talking Landscapes, which surface intermittently throughout my practice. These works allow the landscape to act as a carrier of thought, movement, and inner narrative rather than a stable or descriptive place.

Teetering - A Landscape on the Edge

Q. Has your relationship with your muse evolved over time? Are there aspects that have deepened or new dimensions you've discovered that you'd like to share?

A. Over time, my paintings have prompted me to question and develop different bodies of work that emerge from my personal life and thoughts. Series often form naturally through recurring forms and ideas. For example, my Talking Landscapes series grew from strange, expressive shapes appearing within rocks and flora. Titles such as Green – A Landscape of Irrational Behaviour and Teetering – A Landscape Close to the Edge reflect my underlying thoughts on ecological instability and environmental tension, allowing personal reflection and wider concerns to coexist within the imagined landscape. Personification of the landscape has also allowed me to add human elements like clasping hands or thought bubble clouds. 

Q. Do you have any intentional activities or routines for connecting with inspiration? Conversely, when inspiration doesn't come easily, how do you handle those periods?

A. Painting has become an enjoyable routine for me. In the evenings, once I have finished my household chores, I settle into time at the studio. Having the energy to paint now makes a real difference; when I worked full time as a teacher and caring for the family, I was often too exhausted in the evenings to paint.

On the days that I work in schools or deliver adult art workshops, I am less likely to paint in the evening, and I accept that I need mental rest. Sometimes, if I feel only half exhausted, I will begin a new painting by making simple, intuitive marks. Working on new pieces without critical thinking feels both liberating and motivating.

I also find that preparing everything in advance helps set me up for the evening. While making dinner, I might choose my colours and prepare materials. Changing into my painting clothes helps signal that it is time to paint. During the day, I work on the many other tasks that artists need to do alongside painting.

Grids and Skies 

Q. Can you tell us about a moment when your muse led you somewhere unexpected or challenging? What did you discover about yourself or your practice through that experience?

A. As my muse is the act of being creative itself, each painting presents its own challenges. I often personify my works, describing them as being “naughty” when they resist resolution. I have discovered that it is okay to let these challenges sit, and that I do not have to be in a rush to solve them. Stepping away and returning later with fresh eyes helps the visual problems reveal themselves. Having several paintings on the go at the same time supports this process, allowing ideas to settle and solutions to emerge more naturally.

Radiated

Q. How does your audience's response to your work affect your relationship with your muse? Have viewers ever helped you see new aspects of your inspiration that you hadn't noticed before?

A. A recent experience clarified something fundamental to my practice. During a workshop, participants instinctively turned my paintings around, describing what they could see and how it made them feel. When they began painting, they spoke about their own work in the same way—through emotion, memory, and personal association rather than fixed meaning. Later that day, a friend articulated this perfectly, describing my paintings as similar to Rorschach blots: images that invite interpretation but withhold certainty. The work does not offer a clear narrative; instead, it reflects the viewer’s inner world back to them. This psychological openness allows each person to project their own experiences, creating a personal encounter with the painting.

TigerTrees

Q. How do you balance staying true to your core inspiration while also allowing room for growth and change? Have there been times when you've had to choose between following your muse and meeting external expectations?

A. Presently, I have a commission resting on the floor of my studio. It was previously hanging on the wall, but I took it down because I am finding the motivation to finish it difficult. The work needs to be inspired by the client’s photograph of a seascape, and it currently feels more like a task to be completed than an act of creative exploration.

When I paint, the experience feels expansive and immersive—closer to rest than to work. Painting is my time and because of this, the pressure attached to the commission has made it harder to access that sense of freedom.

I am hopeful that moving into a new studio will shift this balance. Being able to paint during the day may allow me to approach the commission with renewed energy.

Clasped

Q. Thank you so much for sharing such thoughtful insights with us today. As we conclude our conversation, I am curious to know in what direction you think your muse will develop or expand as you look ahead. Are there new territories of inspiration you are eager to explore, and what draws you to them?



A. A new collaboration and exhibition with a portrait artist, has already begun to influence the work I am producing. At times, structures emerge that remind me of the place where I live and where the gallery is located. It is interesting to notice how these forms surface unexpectedly within the paintings.

The works remain transitional and fragmented, resisting a fixed or resolved state. This sense of in-betweenness continues to be important to my practice, allowing space for movement and change.

We are also planning a collaborative artwork, which feels particularly exciting. I am eager to see where this project leads and how my visual language continue to develop through the process.

Contact

Artist : Tara Harris  

Instagram : @tara_harris_art