For as long as I can remember, I’ve loved anything creative. As a 90s kid, I was forever attempting Art Attack projects, urged on by Neil Buchanan — much to my parents’ dismay when, at the age of six, I spent far too long flicking paint into an egg box before anyone realised the white wall beside me was also becoming part of my canvas. Art just felt right to me. The only competitions I ever won were primary school art contests, though at the time I didn’t see it as any kind of achievement.
As I moved into my very difficult teen years, music arrived and became another part of who I was. Playing guitar and then drums gave me an escape I craved almost constantly. But doubt inevitably crept into my malleable teenage brain, and the fear of failure held me back. I didn’t choose art as a GCSE subject because I was terrified of “officially” failing at something I valued so deeply — a choice I would later regret.
We grow up, get a “proper job”, and pay the bills, don’t we? And I did. From the age of 16 I went straight into full‑time work, where I met some wonderful people over the years. I learned people skills, the value of hard work, customer service, and over time developed far more nuanced and specialised abilities. I could always be proud of a job well done and a hard day’s work, and while I loved many of my colleagues, I never truly loved my jobs.
During all this, I became a mum to a brilliant boy with very specific interests. Since he was two, he’s been unwavering in his ambition to become a palaeontologist. His passion for all things prehistoric led us on countless trips to museums and events — and finding things with his favourite creatures on them (as we all try to do for our kids) was surprisingly difficult. You might say, “But there’s loads of dinosaur stuff in shops,” and you’d be right. But when your little one becomes something of an expert, finding accurate designs feels impossible. Big retailers are full of three‑fingered T. rexes or Raptors without the toe claw (if you know, you know). Every time I spotted something I liked at first glance, I’d notice what was wrong and immediately think of dozens of ways it could have been done better.
Over the years, as I built up my own skills, I finally took matters into my own hands and began creating detailed, personalised things for my family and friends instead.
There’s not much I haven’t tackled now — from resin pieces containing the ashes of loved ones in beautiful memorials, to custom artwork on cushion covers, bespoke monogrammed quilted book sleeves, faux‑leather‑bottomed makeup bags, and so much more.
There is nothing better than receiving a gift that is unmistakably you — or seeing the look on someone’s face when you give them something that shows you truly “get” them. It makes us feel seen.
So… have an idea? An inside joke you want to turn into a keyring to give someone a giggle every time they lock the door? Your teens have trends and jokes with their friends that we can barely keep up with? Come to me, and we’ll figure out how to turn that connection into something personal.
Alongside my website — which I’ll always be developing and adding to — I welcome custom requests from my lovely customers.
You can reach me at hartleywarddesigns@outlook.com or via the contact page.
