A Deepening into Light: Q&A with Abstract Painter Melanie Field

Following her debut solo exhibition Orchestra of Light in 2023, Melanie Field returns with a new body of work that moves further into the intuitive, elemental language that has come to define her practice. Natural phenomena marks a deepening, both in process and presence.

We sat down with Mel to talk about this evolution, the unseen forces within her work, and what it means to truly listen to a painting.

Your first solo exhibition, Orchestra of Light, explored the unseen and the energetic. How does Natural Phenomena build on or depart from that body of work?

Orchestra of Light was about capturing the experience of being in light and nature, and exploring how to externalise the energy we can sense but not see across my first large body of work.

I don’t see my shows as separate themes; my work builds on itself. As my practice deepens, so does my awareness of what I’m doing. There’s a growing sense of authenticity: I understand the work more, myself more, and I’m more able to listen to what the paintings are asking of me.

So Natural Phenomena leads on organically rather than departing, it’s actually a deepening of that same exploration of making the invisible felt.

Since that first show, I’ve consciously pushed things further through mark-making, scale, and colour; moving between rich, visceral burgundy and chartreuse in some pieces to then much more pared-back, pale works. I’ve also been pushing out physically; working across multiple panels, diptychs and triptychs, so the work opens into a more immersive space.

There has definitely been a shift in recent years too, in how I understand my process. Becoming more aware of the lineage of female artists working historically with spiritualism and automatism has been validating honestly; it places what I practice within a wider history.

Where does control end and intuition begin in your practice?

For me, control and intuition are intertwined because I naturally move in and out of both them. I can feel when control takes over e.g. forcing resolution in a painting; that’s my signal to step back and pause, possibly shifting onto another piece, take a break - but definitely wait.

The painting process is very similar to meditation; it’s not about eliminating thoughts (or control) but creating a space which allows you to know you are having thoughts in the first place (i.e awareness control has crept in). So presence (and intuition) really just dance between thoughts/control…and it’s in that balance that the work comes alive.

What is something about your work that you feel is often misunderstood?

I think because my work can appear quite ethereal or is often described as spiritual or atmospheric, there’s sometimes an assumption that the process itself is calm, effortless (even ‘heavenly’), but in reality, there are times it is serene and then anything but that; the process involves a lot of uncertainty. 

There are moments of flow, where things seem to align and unfold naturally, and they’re often balanced by periods of not knowing - of pushing through, doubting, reworking, and sitting with discomfort. There’s a real ebb and flow to it, which feels very much in line with the natural cycles that inspire the work in the first place.

For me, the paintings emerge through that tension; the highs and lows, the clarity and the confusion. It’s not about maintaining a constant state of inspiration, but about staying with the process even when it feels unresolved or difficult. So while the finished works might hold a sense of stillness or lightness, they’re actually shaped by a much more grounded, and at times gritty, experience.

How do you translate something intangible, like energy or atmosphere, into a physical surface? Can you talk about what that looks like in the studio?

For me, the translation begins long before I’m in the studio. It comes from building a deep reservoir to draw from - both visually and energetically. I am fascinated by relationship dynamics and how events play out in our lives / Quantum Dynamics - I also spend a lot of time in nature - without trying to analyse it. Alongside this, I research other artists who have explored similar territories, so there’s this ongoing gathering happening. 

By the time I’m in the studio, it’s less about thinking and more about presence. I work in an intuitive, almost meditative way, responding moment to moment, even down to the choice of colour. Physically, the paintings often begin in a very energetic, gestural way, where the initial marks establish movement and texture. From there, I build and rework the surface through layers; some sheer, some more opaque…adding, softening, and removing over time. It’s a back-and-forth process that unfolds over weeks, creating a sense of history within each piece.

Earlier in my practice, I did find this frustrating whenever I tried to control or understand it, however now I trust it. There’s a relationship that develops, where the painting reveals what it needs, through both what is added and what is taken away and I now realise this ‘history’ is actually really important in the work.

Your works are often described as otherworldly, yet they feel grounded in something familiar. Where do you think these senses of place come from?

The sense of place definitely comes from nature; from its textures, colours, and shifting palettes. That’s a constant reference point for me.

But there’s also a more intangible layer, which comes from how I imagine energy might look. It’s almost like a kind of synaesthesia, not translating sound into colour, but translating energy into colour and form.

I’ve had people say the work reminds them of cosmic imagery or weather systems, and that makes sense to me. There’s something in those visual languages that feels both vast and familiar, so perhaps the paintings sit somewhere between those two spaces.

If these paintings could speak, what do you think they would say?

I love this question. I think, in a way, they would ask: what are we doing to one another?
They feel like quiet, wise presences to me, almost like oracles. Each one carries something of a greater source, as if it’s a message coming through rather than from me. There’s a consistency in that message too, something I also feel when I’m around trees. A kind of deep knowing, a benevolence. There’s love in them, and compassion, but also a sense of acceptance, of humanity, of where we are, of the journey we’re on.

More than anything, I think the paintings are trying to hold that space, to gently emanate love and compassion.

I would say there is a new, growing confidence in my process; I am learning to trust myself more, finding more empowerment in my role as an artist…feeling that this is what I’m here to do.

If you'd like to learn more about Melanie click here.

You can download the catalogue here.