Joanna

Rowena’s life was touched by loss when her daughter Joanna died at just sixteen. In the years that followed, Rowena and Quentin turned themselves to farming—a life of close observation and deep pleasure, lived in the presence of that absence, but not overtaken by it. Only later, when farming fell away, did there seem to be space for something long held inward to take shape. Through art, this body of work quietly emerged: measured, hard-won and deeply felt, its strength lying in attentiveness rather than declaration.