Over the past decade, the rise of social media and online selling platforms has massively changed the art world. When I first started painting and drawing, back as a wee 19-year-old, the idea of becoming a full-time artist seemed completely out of the realm of possibility (and considering I was working as a body double for a Bond girl on Skyfall at the time, that’s saying a lot). At the time, as an artist, you were either represented by a gallery or publishing house or you painted for fun on the side of a ‘real’ job.

I remember going into galleries and showing the poor Saturday workers my portfolio of drawings and paintings to their sympathetic smiles (my artwork was truly dreadful back then). My friend David still teases me about the time when we went into a high street gallery one afternoon. I showed the disinterested lady working in there one of my paintings and when she simply smiled politely, I said defensively, “Well, I’m only 19!” and stalked out of the gallery. Years later, that same gallery would reach out to me, asking if I was interested in representation. Ah, how I love full circle moments.

In March 2011, I was working on a show and we were filming on location down at West Wittering beach. One of the guys I was working with was showing us all this new, revolutionary app, where you could use your phone like a polaroid camera and edit the photos. We sat around the fire on the beach that evening and took photos of each other, editing them with the most horrendous filters and posting them on our pages, with as little care of curation as humanly possible. Little did I know that years later, that app was going to become part of the scaffolding of my entire career.

As social media emerged, particularly alongside YouTube, eBay and then Etsy, artists were suddenly able to showcase their art, share their process and sell their work without needing a gallery or a publisher.

Only a few years previously, in 2008, Damien Hirst had shocked the art world by selling his work directly at auction, bypassing (and royally pissing off) his long-time dealers and galleries. He brought in roughly $200 million.

Now, albeit on a much smaller scale, artists were suddenly able to do the same - sell their work directly to customers without the need for a gallery or dealer. Of course, this sort of sales model comes with a ceiling. As people slowly started to trust the internet to make purchases, artists were able to sell their work for a fair profit but there are some sales that people still prefer to make in person.

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My latest series of work, The Natural Order, has been a deviation from my usual style and concept. Over the years, I’ve used my art to raise awareness or money for conservation causes or animal welfare issues. It’s always been my biggest passion - protecting our natural world.

During the run up to my Impermanence solo show back in 2022, several news channels ran stories about my art. The general headlines were that I was protecting wildlife because I used to suffer from mutism and sought solace in nature as a child - now I wanted to use my art to protect those without a voice (animals). Although a compelling take on my art, if I’m perfectly honest, I had never considered that this was why I painted animals, until I was asked about it in an interview for BBC Women’s Hour.

The truth is, although I’ve been passionate about wildlife since childhood and have always enjoyed being in nature, I paint animals because I enjoy painting them and I raise awareness and funds for conservation of the natural world because it’s a cause that is important to me. There is an abundance of important issues in the world that need our care and attention; famine, war, trafficking, the dubious ethics of technological advancements, a lack of healthcare for some countries, to name but a few.

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This is something I’ve been grappling with for the better part of 8 years now.

When I first decided to pursue a career as an artist and business-owner, I was still working as a teacher and tutoring kids in the evenings, leaving very little time to dedicate to my new side-hustle.

I would work late into the night and on weekends, building up a portfolio of work and making a website, branding and a catalogue of artists for my art gallery, Art Basket. I would spend hours and hours hunched over my laptop, the insides of my cheeks chewed to shreds, and was still just about scraping by financially.

When I finally made the jump from working 3 separate jobs to becoming a full-time artist, I suddenly had so much time and freedom, I didn’t know what to do with myself.

Fresh from the working world, I was determined not to go back there and I would do whatever it took to keep my head above water. I loved working for myself, choosing my own schedule, waking up whenever I wanted, travelling and networking. For me, it was worth the uncertainty of not having a regular paycheque and the stress of managing my own taxes.

They say when you love what you do, you don’t work a day in your life.

That’s how it felt for a while. I felt so genuinely grateful to be doing what I loved for a living and to actually make money from something I did for fun. I worked 7 days a week and rarely took time off.

When the pandemic hit and we were forced to stay at home, I doubled down even more on my work. Aside from my daily walk in the woods and my weekly trip to the supermarket, I practically ate, slept and breathed my work. Despite it being a pretty stressful time (and awful for those who lost loved ones etc.), the lockdown was a fruitful time for me. Everybody was at home and they wanted art to fill their walls with!

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Over the years, we have spoken to many experts on our podcast about the impact of tech use on our mental, emotional and physical health. No matter the flavour of guest; their background, age, education or training, the message has always been the same: technology has made our lives infinitely more convenient and we are now more connected with the rest of the world than ever before. Yet we are somehow lonelier and less content than ever before too.

Now, with the rise of AI and people using LLMs as therapists, advisors, and even friends, the situation is only worsening. It’s no secret that we have a ‘loneliness epidemic’, particularly in males.

I have always been fairly open about my own struggles with tech. I live in a cabin in the woods, I don’t have a TV, I like to read ‘proper’ books and I spend my days painting animals. One would be forgiven for thinking that I am fairly ‘pure’ when it comes to tech. Alas, no. I have long struggled with phone addiction; whether it be feverishly doing online jigsaw puzzles in between my daily tasks, or doom scrolling to the sound of my laptop streaming some show I’m barely paying attention to. I always have music or a podcast blaring, so I don’t have to sit in silence with my own thoughts.

My first addiction was probably ‘Doodle Jump’ some 15 years ago, although, as a teenager, I was hunched over the family computer playing ‘The Sims’ for days at a time with the rest of my generation. I had to delete ‘Candy Crush’ off my phone after somebody pointed out that every time I stopped to think about something, I would automatically reach for my phone. These addictive games became my way of tuning out of the real world, like a coping mechanism.

We recently spoke to science journalist and founder of Screen/Life Balance, Catherine Price, about ‘How to Break Up With Your Phone’. She pointed out that social media apps like TikTok and Instagram are designed with the same addictiveness as casino slot machines - made to get you hooked and keep you playing for as long as possible. Dragging yourself off one of these apps does indeed feel like stopping a freight train, once you’re locked into that dopamine-filled penny machine.

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Have you ever had a week, or a month, or even a year where it feels like everything you touch turns to gold?

Good news comes out of nowhere, opportunities seemingly fall into your lap, you’re in a constant state of flow and productivity and inspiration.

I once read that humans have a tendency to overestimate how long positive emotions will last and, similarly, when we’re feeling down, we think that will last forever too. It’s called ‘affective broadcasting' and apparently, we’re just really bad at it.

When you’re having one of those periods of success - a ‘summer’ of life - it feels like it will last forever. “Well, I’ve finally made it, it’s only going to get better from here on out!”

If your summer lasts an entire year, or sometimes even several years, it’s really easy to fall into the trap of thinking that everything is just going to be fine and dandy forever.

Until it’s not.

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I’m not just talking about the stuff of nightmares suddenly emerging into our every day lives, desensitising us to the sort of horrors that are usually in movies, or the fact that we haven’t had a ‘quiet’ news day for about 6 months. After all, those things aren’t really changes. They’ve always been there, feste…

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As humans, we are ever-evolving creatures. We move through ages; from stone to metal to medieval to exploration to scientific revolution to industrialisation to the information age we are currently living in. In the last 50 years alone, we have seen such huge technological advancements, it’s difficult to remember the days before the internet, smartphones and online banking.

As ever-evolving creatures, we’re also extremely adaptable. We like to worry, fret, moan. Sometimes we’re pushed out of a career that we love or forced to change location, economise, reassess. Ultimately, though, we’re very skilled gymnasts. We get used to a new norm surprisingly quickly and research shows that people tend to return to a ‘baseline’ level of happiness over time after either a positive or a negative experience. At least, that’s how I reassure myself when the world feels uncertain.

But the current rate of AI development? That’s a whole new kind of change. Over time, we’ve always had new tools, machines and now technologies that have changed lives, ‘stolen’ jobs and disrupted the economy.

Remember when only scribes were able to read and write? Me neither - apparently it was a few years before I was born. Those who could write held most of the economic and political power. They were responsible for tax records, contracts, laws, even religious texts. As literacy expanded and the use of the pen and printing press increased, bureaucracy, trade, news, education and laws all changed. You could say the whole world changed (arguably for the better). Yet, this change happened over thousands of years; generations and generations and generations.

It took around 3000 years for the pen to reshape society. Industrial machines changed the world in about 100. But artificial intelligence? A decade or two. In the space of about 5 years, we’ll see such a huge amount of condensed change to society, economies, jobs and (more my area of expertise) creativity.

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In that time, I’ve rarely branched out of painting, drawing or photographing animals. I’ve dabbled in other subjects and often found it to be a tedious task. Not that painting humans or landscapes or objects is any less worthy of attention and admiration - I often enjoy admiring other people’s work that is not animal-related. In fact, I often admire it more.

Because art is a reflection of self and a way of communicating how you view the world. The world would be a boring place if we all had the same interests and fascinations and the art world would be even more competitive than it already is if we were all painting the same thing.

An early Sophie Green Fine Art original, I’m not sure why this was my ‘ideal’ fish (or indeed why I had an ideal fish at all).

Since childhood, I’ve been fascinated by the natural world. As a mute, I sought solace in nature and animals. I understood the animal kingdom more than I understood other people and their strange behaviours.

Animals are intuitive and natural in their behaviours. For the most part, they act on instinct. Even though humans are technically animals, our ability to communicate through spoken word, writing, creating, texting and trolling on social media sets us apart from the rest of the animal kingdom and has created some strange social phenomena. Not to mention the opposable thumbs and apparent superior intellect (an intellect I often question when I see what’s going on in the world).

Despite having long overcome my mutism, I still view the world through the lens of that confused little girl. I still look to nature to bear life’s burdens.

I live in a cabin in the woods and go for a daily walk in the forest. When I’m overwhelmed or something is bothering me, I will put my hand on a tree as I walk past it, as if to say “Here, you take it. You’re bigger and stronger than me.” Part of me hopes that is just my imaginary nonsense - I can’t imagine how many trees I’ve burdened with my woes otherwise!

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Just like I didn’t ever intend to work in the film industry as a young 20-something-year-old. My brother was an undertaker at the time (yes, he collected dead bodies for a living but that’s a story for another day) and he worked with somebody who moonlighted in the film industry as a fire safety officer on film sets. He gave my brother the name of some film agents, as I was fresh out of school and bumming about, working in shops and getting in trouble for sneaking off to the stock rooms.

I very much had the attitude of ‘why not?’ back then and I suppose I still do now (which is probably why I made this Substack). I submitted an application to all of the agencies and was accepted. Cut to a year or so later and I’m working on a film called Jack the Giant Slayer, body doubling for a lovely actress called Eleanor Tomlinson (fun fact, it was actually called ‘Jack the Giant Killer’ when I was working on it but I guess they changed the name to make it more child-friendly).

I was in the lunch queue, telling a fellow crew member about how one of my paintings had been stolen (I can’t really remember the particulars of how a painting got stolen but I was obviously very annoyed about it at the time). The lead actor in the film - a sweet young man, who actually went on to become a massive star a few years later - overheard and asked, “one of your paintings got stolen?”

I looked at him, deadpan, and said “yes.” then turned around and carried on talking to my friend. I sometimes look back on social interactions I have had with people in the past and wish I could be more, well, cool. I could have said, “Oh yeah, I actually paint, do you want to see some photos of my art?” and that could have been how I became a full-time artist. But no.

Here’s me on the set of Jack the Giant Killer and/or Slayer, no doubt covering my face in shame.

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The timing is particularly fitting, as I’ve recently been reflecting on 2025 and setting goals and intentions for the year ahead. I still haven’t written a single goal on my little list yet. Not because I’m afraid that I won’t achieve them (although if I’m honest, that does play on my mind too), but because I’m afraid that I will and it still won’t be enough.

We were chatting with a podcast guest (did I mention I co-host a really cool podcast) recently about how, as creatives, we’re never truly content with where we are. Most of us are always chasing, comparing, putting massive pressure on ourselves and beating ourselves up for not doing, being or having enough.

I am definitely guilty of moving the goal posts. I want this - no, actually I want this instead - in fact, now I have that, I’ve just realised it’s not enough and I actually need more (I’m imagining myself fat and greedy, sitting on a mound of gold, even though that’s ridiculous because I’d never be fat - my metabolism would never allow it).

10 years ago, the idea that I would be earning a living off painting was utterly unbelievable. Actually, the idea that anybody would pay me real, actual, hard-earned money for something I’d essentially created for fun, would have left me squirming with discomfort and guilt. I’ve definitely done a lot of inner-work to get to the point where I’m able to make enough money from my art to both survive and also support the conservation causes that I care about.

But now, being a full-time artist isn’t enough for me. I need to be constantly achieving, growing, changing the world, etc etc.

William S. Burroughs once said that ‘when you stop growing, you start dying’ and boy, have I taken that phrase to heart.

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There are a few photos that perfectly encapsulate me as a child. This is one of them. The ‘itchy chin’ face, hand-me-down clothes that usually came from my older brother or some other kid on the street, whose parents smoked, so the clothes also smelt like tobacco. I had a pair of Hawaiian shorts that didn’t quite fit the cold English climate and when I was finally allowed a brand new outfit, I opted for a black velvet (yes velvet?) t-shirt with flowers on it and a pair of lime green trainers that lit up every time you took a step. My mum charged into the house ahead of me that day to frantically warn the family not to tease me for my horrendous choices (something I only found out from my sister as an adult).

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I’ve been living in a little cabin in the woods (which now doubles as my art studio, since my career as an artist took off), for nearly 7 years. My thoughts, processes and ideas rattle around in my head in my little ‘Sophie corner’, as I go for my daily walks through the forest. For years I’ve been telling family and friends that I am going to sta…

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