A Conversation with Laura Medcalf: Painting with the Earth, Water, and Time

Exploring the Elemental Alchemy of Laura Medcalf’s Nature-Based Art Practice

Laura Medcalf’s practice exists between worlds—painting and photography, land and sea, performance and stillness. Following her successful London debut with the solo show Seeing Beyond, where she brought nature into the heart of Mayfair, speaking to her felt like stepping into the layered terrain of her work: thoughtful, curious, grounded, and full of elemental surprises. I was excited to step into Laura’s world—her nature-based practice, the alchemy of soil and water, and the meditative patience it takes to let the earth complete each piece.

Can you take us back to the beginning? How did your journey as an artist start?

Laura Medcalf: When I did the IB diploma, I was always in the art room. I was constantly researching, showing different styles. But I was only 18, and I hadn’t figured it all out yet. I told my parents and my teachers I wanted to study fashion design for womenswear. My dream was to go to Saint Martin’s, so I did courses there. But one of my teachers said, “Laura, you’re a visual artist. She knew all my work was inspired by art and nature. So, I applied to the Arts University Bournemouth. It had just been refurbished and was amazing—Wolfgang Tillmans went there, I met Zaha Hadid. They held lectures and I was lucky to be there.

So, your practice started with a connection to nature?

Laura Medcalf: Yes, I was gathering botanical flowers, researching Kew Gardens, and looking at plant migration. I did compositions in painting, drawing, watercolour. But I felt I needed something more. I thought, “Maybe I should work with the sun?” I researched photography, experimented. At one point I overheated a lightbox and caused a fire. After that, I wasn’t allowed to make plant paintings anymore!

I spent time at the sea, contemplating, going back every day. And I thought: maybe I should work with soil. The Jurassic Coastline in the UK is the most ancient—full of fossils, dinosaur remains. That’s where it all started.

And how did water become part of the process? What led you to start dipping the works?

Laura Medcalf: When I researched the components in the soil, I realised there were small crystals that sparkled and changed colour in water. My work spans painting, photography, performance, printing, and land art—it all overlaps.

When I paint in the darkroom, I use a Japanese brush, very thin and soft. I make the paint myself, and the paper soaks it in completely. Then I roll it up in light-protective tubes. When I unroll it, it turns brown. Water transforms it—it turns blue. It references the sky, the sea, the infinite. There’s always a full-circle moment.

I work with both solids and liquids—sand, soil, and water. The crystals dissolve. It’s all part of the transformation.

Being nature-led and transformational, does the outcome always surprise you? Or do you develop expectations?

Laura Medcalf: I know the shapes—they stay. But the blues? I never know. Sometimes they turn green, sometimes purple, sometimes even orange. Each water gives a different blue. That’s why I use water from different parts of the world. Last week I used water from a lake in Hungary—it gave a completely different result from the Mediterranean. But once it’s dipped, I can’t reverse it. I just have to trust the moment. Nature always puts the last stamp.

Recently on the Jurassic Coast, I used orange pigment from a 240-million-year-old rock. It was the first time I mixed pigment from the rock into the paint. The result looked like a forest fire—it was beautiful. When I work with rivers, the colour goes bronze. With the Danube, never bronze. The lake in Hungary had crushed shells in the sediment, and that made the whole work sparkle. It looked like a woodcut print.

That sounds so immersive and present. Is the process healing for you?

Laura Medcalf: Absolutely. I want the viewer to heal too. Painting becomes meditative—layer by layer, I move tiny amounts of sand, sometimes dipping each rock into water before placing it. It’s very slow. The works are often two-toned—blues and whites—but there are hundreds of shades.

In my London exhibition Seeing Beyond, I wanted people to really observe—not just the shapes, but how many layers, what pulls you in. That’s a form of meditation too. The work is calming. It draws you into the present.

You mentioned drawing shapes before involving nature in your pieces. How do you decide on these shapes—are they influenced by your perception of the atmosphere?

Laura Medcalf: I focus on what’s around me. Sometimes I start working right when I arrive, other times it’s after I’ve absorbed the place. In Puglia, I was struck by the ageing buildings—how nature takes over with time—and started using more circular forms, no white space. The Caribbean series was different: on Saona Island, a UNESCO site in the Dominican Republic, I had to travel by boat and walk through jungle.

It was the first time I saw white sand—I began painting as soon as I arrived. There was a sense of urgency and immersion. In Thailand, on Phi Phi Island, I was travelling with a backpack, waking early to paint. One day I walked barefoot all morning, through a forest, and found a beach that felt right. That spontaneity guides a lot of my decisions.

And how do you choose your locations? Do you return to the same place or constantly seek new terrain?

Laura Medcalf: Sometimes I return, but it’s never the exact same spot. For example, I’m returning to a beach in Hungary for a residency. Same water, different stretch.

I’m very sensitive to place—I don’t go somewhere just to make work. It has to feel right. I’d love to work with volcanic sand. I went to Iceland once, but it was too cold—the paper wouldn’t dry. I’ve worked with snow too. Completely different. But yes, snow is frozen water, so it made sense.

One of my dreams is to work with black sand, maybe in Lanzarote. The minerals in the water make a big difference. There’s so much to discover. So many places where nature will teach me something new.

It sounds like you’re in constant dialogue with the environment—and what goes into these paintings is layers of the environment’s history, along with your energy and presence.

Laura Medcalf: Yes. At first, I have control. I extract, remove, add back. There’s human interaction. But in the end, nature finishes the work. It’s a collaboration. No matter your background, nature puts the last mark. Always. It’s a collaboration. Some pieces are bold and dynamic, others quiet and meditative.

I use shapes that the brain might recognise: a circle, a plant, a shooting star. These motifs hold meaning. One of my works, for example, references the tradition of wishing on shooting stars—an ancient, collective interaction with nature. I’m fascinated by those fleeting moments. Emotion is central to my process. When I’m overwhelmed or low, I write and research. It all ends up on the paper in some way.

Follow Laura Medcalf’s evolving practice on Instagram and explore her recent series with Apollo Gallery in Budapest. Her works offer a rare quiet in a chaotic world—layered, thoughtful, and grounded in the earth itself.

@laura_medcalf_studio

©2025 Laura Medcalf