There are seven large-scale paintings in your new exhibition. How long did they take? 

About two years. First I need to come up with the composition and narrow down what’s going to be in each picture, and then I need to think about it from a painting point of view – so colour and tone and movement. Also, because they’re oil paintings, they takes ages to dry, and if you make a mistake, you need to paint a whole other picture. 

They combine elements of abstraction and realism. Can you talk a bit about that decision? 

I’ve tried to make them teeter between the two. They’re neither so abstract that you won’t know what’s going on nor so realistic that you think you needn’t spend time looking. Every single part of each painting has a meaning – they’re not just pretty colours and shapes, everything ties back in to something else. 

Did you encounter any difficulties? 

Without sounding stereotypical or pretentious, I find I have to paint – painting is what makes me feel alive – but I always, always have a nightmare when I’m doing a painting. I don’t think something is good unless it’s made me really miserable. Also, I’m a Catholic and I find faith a real companion in my work, but with this series, suddenly I was taking advantage of the thing that I normally go to for help. So when I got to the stage where I thought the paintings were finished, I hated them. I put them in a building out in the garden, turned them around, and almost felt that I’d created things that didn’t want anything to do with me. It was a very odd feeling. 

How did you overcome it?

I’m really particular about framing. I’d seen a frame in Italy on a work by Alberto Burri, and wanted something similar for these paintings. It was rustic, and I needed the wood to be torched to get it to the right colour and bring the grain out. No framer would do it so I went to Cliff Strong of Woodlark Build. Once he’d agreed, I felt like someone else was in the fold and I could look at them again. 

What do you hope exhibition-goers will take from the show?

I find the world is so fast, but the pictures demand your attention – they demand that you look for a bit longer to work out what the image is. If I can get people to engage in that, they have a moment of stillness and silence. If they take anything more, it’s an interpretation of the Easter story. But they might not like them. I think it’s interesting when people don’t like a work of art – it’s all subjective. 

Tell us about how you came to be a professional painter. 

It came about because I was involved in a bicycle accident with a terrible head injury at 28, and was told I’d never work again full time and wouldn’t be able to return to what I was doing. I’d studied art history but was making video content for the internet, and before that I’d gone into investment banking. After the accident I thought, who am I? Life’s about fulfilment, it’s not about making as much money as we can, we need to leave something behind. So I did an art foundation course when I was in my 30s and then went to the Royal Drawing School, which was wonderful. 

Before that, you embarked on a walking pilgrimage that you chronicle in your book An Accidental Jubilee, all the way from Canterbury to Rome. Did it change how you fell about religion? 

Oh, hugely. I grew up going to church and it was just part of life. I took it for granted. After my accident, I thought, I am so lucky to have lived through this, and it became my companion on the pilgrimage. People would ask ‘Do you believe in God then?’ If you’re going to walk for three months, you’ve got to believe in something, otherwise you’d give up. Now I find faith very helpful for keeping on the straight and narrow – I like the routine and the discipline. And I like hope, I like wishing, I like praying. 

Do you have a favourite Sussex artist? 

I like a lot of Sussex artists and people who came to paint in Sussex but I’m going to say Paul Nash. I’ve just read his autobiography and I love that in painting the landscape, he manages to paint how you feel the landscape, so it’s almost like it’s moving. 

What inspires you about the region? 

The light and the emptiness and softness of the landscape, particularly the chalk. I’ve yet to paint much at nighttime but I love how you can still see here when the moon is full. 

If you’re ever feeling stumped creatively, what do you like to do? 

I walk. People meditate and I think that somehow, when I’m walking, I get into a meditative state – I just lose myself in the horizon. 

Do you have a favourite walk? 

I walk up Black Cap. When we were buying our house, my husband and I were both allowed two non-negotiables. One of mine was to be able to walk up a hill and see the sea. We can do that from our own front door but if you keep going a bit, there’s a fold in the Downs where the light catches it like a snake, and if you stand in that fold it’s suddenly quiet, even on the windiest day. I love that. I think when I’m 80, I’ll still be losing my thoughts up there. 

Describe your favourite Sussex view.  

A line of beech trees near Castle Hill Nature Reserve in Woodingdean, just above Brighton. There’s a very potholey car park, and if you walk for about a mile and a half there’s a beautiful line of beech trees that remind me of Paul Nash’s pictures. Of course, there’s also the Seven Sisters – they are extraordinary, and the coast changes all the time. I painted all the way from Brighton to Margate and I think in 20 years’ time, I’ll go and paint it again. 

Name a favourite gallery locally. 

The Towner. It has a great library and you can go through the catalogue, select paintings you want to see in their storage, and book a time to visit them. Also, Charleston Farmhouse. I’m also about to embark on a big project at Clandeboye, an estate in Northern Ireland, exploring its connection with Charleston and the Bloomsbury Group. 

Any other favourite local places you recommend for inspiration or otherwise? 

I love Much Ado Bookshop in Alfriston. Owners Cate and Nash are hugely creative and their shop isn’t only books, it’s like walking into a work of art. Also Offham Farm Shop’s flapjacks – they’re so good you have to eat them in the car. Also, the Perch on Lancing beach. At lunchtime, their moules-frites are delicious. And I am partial to a Tuesday matinee at Depot.