We’re thrilled to share this collection of creativity from the talented young artists of the Isle of Wight. Featuring the work of 16 under 25s who submitted their photography, artwork and creative writing.
It’s the first edition in the lead up to a new Brave Island Festival taking place this Autumn, an event which will be all about celebrating young people. Make sure you sign up via our website to find out more and get involved.
A massive thank you goes out to all our contributors, and to Jasmine Metta Truman, who masterfully edited this entire publication. We’re so grateful for all of your hard work!
If you’d like to see your own art in print, submissions are now open for our next edition, Volume 2 - “Should I Stay or Should I Go?” Deadline: 30th March 2026
Visit Braveisland.uk for details!
Alfie Barnes
Alice Joubert
Eddie Lanning
Cait Calder
Flynn Blake
Indi Raphael
Ioana Mateescu
Isaac Leal
Jasmine Metta Truman
Jett Pon
Kira Lacey
Lillian Stafford
Maia Allard-Willcocks
Scott Martin
Theodora Travers
Vinny Riches
AM I BEING HELD?
Taken at Freshwater Bay, this project aims to utilise the sea as a method of creating opacity similarly to that of plastic. The work questions what it means to be seen in this landscape, to feel close to this and how the rhythm of the sea can be used as a method of emotional processing.
‘Arms Around You’ from HOW THE PIECES SETTLE
Alfie Barnes
Alice Joubert
OVER-THINKING IS OVERRATED
TRUST YOUR INSTINCT FOR THE BEST 2026
By Eddie Lanning
Most of us are guilty of overthinking. We get a big idea, feel a spark of excitement… and then talk ourselves out of it before anything ever happens. Sometimes, the best things happen in the split second before doubt kicks in. That exact moment when instinct takes over and you just say yes.
That’s how 69-year-old Sandra from East Cowes ended up doing a charity skydive for Mountbatten Hospice. No planning. No deep breathing. No pros and cons list. Just pure gut instinct.
When talking further about how Sandra had even thought about the idea, she told me: “I was at
bingo with my friend, Jan,” she laughed. “Jan said she was doing a skydive, and before I even thought about it, I said I’d join her.” Sandra jokes that she “opened her mouth before thinking,” but honestly? That split-second decision changed everything.
Sandra wasn’t just doing it for thrills. She was spurred on to do it for something very close to her heart- a place that means a lot to a great deal of Islanders. When Sandra’s husband became ill, Mountbatten Hospice not only gave the best care, they also supported the family: “It’s a wonderful place. The skydive was my way of giving something back.”
Sandra goes to the hospice every week for the Knit and Natter group. She talks about the wonderful atmosphere there, where people are cared for with dignity, kindness, and total respect.
“I’m proud and humbled to be part of it,” she said — and her actions show it.
Sky-diving for charity was made on gut-instinct but the feel-good factor didn’t erase the sheer fear that Sandra felt leading up to the big day. On the day of the jump, standing at the plane door, Sandra says her first thought was:“I can’t do this — help!”
Not everyone was 100% in support of Sandra’s decision. Sandra’s mum had worries that she might get hurt. But, not one to go back on her word, Sandra still went through with the skydive when most people might have discreetly found a way to get out of it.
After training for her skydive, Sandra said she felt a bit steadier — but nothing prepared her for being nudged out of the plane by her instructor. “Being pushed out by my pillion was the most surprising part!”
Sandra raised an incredible £890 — all while being scared of heights! But the
The freefall was freezing, but the view?
“Sensational.”
real result was the gift of self-confidence.
When we asked what she’d learned, Sandra said something we all need to hear: “I know I can push myself now. And if I can do it, anyone can.”
Sandra’s story is proof that trusting your gut — even blurting something out before your brain catches up — can sometimes lead to the most unforgettable moments of your life. Sandra’s story gives major self-confidence boosting vibes and honestly, we’re here for it.
If Sandra’s story inspires you, Mountbatten Hospice would love to welcome new volunteers and supporters.
Email: info@mountbatten.org.uk.
Your instinct might just lead you exactly where you need to go.
my knees had turned gunmetal grey and my neck had become damp with sweat by the time i had finished taking the thing to pieces. i arranged the skinny threads of metal in a wobbly line like fishbones, wrapped waxy wooden slats together with a wad of brown tape. there i was, gutting the ribcage of this beached ikea whale; i took our bed to bits, smaller and smaller, until it was little more than a pile of catalogue-numbered screws rolling around on the dusty floor.
II.
our wrinkled mattress did not tumble down the stairs and split open at the bottom like a heavy sack of flour as i thought it would; instead, we let it crawl down each carpeted step, pausing to catch our breath, cool rain smacking against the windowpane to fill the silence. you, grunting, hauled the thing into the transit van by yourself. when you left, your spinning tyres threw up thick jets of water from gutter rivers, every drop landing around my feet in a halo.
III.
here i am now, weeks after we last spoke. i have been putting this off – throwing out our bed –so today i haul the thing onto my back and take hulking steps down ryde pier until i’ve steadied it at the lip of the railing. in a few short moments, once it thuds against the seafloor, our bed will become another layer of sand just like a real whale’s carcass. it leans back into my hands, waiting for the push. will it splash? the sea snarls underfoot. will it even make a noise? i wait. when i throw out our bed will we become sand, too?
By Cait Calder
Flynn Blake
Flynn Blake
Indi Raphael
Ioana Mateescu
CHARTING BABYLON
I bring to you the transcription of my patient’s most peculiar and unsettling ordeal, so as not to violate the privacy of my client’s relations; I will be disguising their identity.
I am visited, not daily, yet more frequently than the moon takes to complete its cycle, by a vestige that interrupts my rest, substituting my musings with the devil’s thoughts themselves. Prior to reaching my first decade, I contracted a fever that proved to confound even the most practised of minds, they possessed the ability to deliver herb and opioid, a kindness that temporarily relieved my suffering, but their inability to resolve my symptoms, left me in a prolonged weakened state. As I reached the cusp of manhood my inadequacies became but more apparent, my peers ventured beyond the boundaries of our settlement, discovering new skills, and places to belong. I could not match their abilities myself and grew to mourn what I could no longer achieve. This resentment visited upon me from sources outside of my comprehension. Images of the capable life I could have led invaded the unoccupied moments before dream, obscuring my sight did not bring the ability to turn away these illusions. Many moons and months passed where these visuals grew but more frequently poignant; they confirmed that I had become the burden my innermost mind recognised, they presented me with the realities of the lives my condition had denied, they revealed that I was not capable of discovering the stability so easily found by others. Now, as the days draw to a close, I long to escape from the devil’s mass that I have become a servant of.
I received this extract of my client’s manuscript and became compelled to enlighten others of the perspective it afforded me. The treatment I was employed to provide was inadequate, relief should have not merely been brought to the physical form, but to maintain stability of the mind. My practise should consult on factors of enduring the alterations we inflict. They will be abnormal, but that state does not demand shame, we should not seek to achieve an imagined normality, such a feat is forever out of reach, a person should do but what works best. For the means and time involved in compatible change matter not, it is an urgent process that demands immediate capture, less the mind fall forever into despair.
By Isaac Leal
Jasmine Metta Truman
BEFORE WE PART WAYS FOREVER
Sitting at my desk, I stared over at the vacant seat next to me, and entangled myself in thoughts involving the girl who once sat there: Evie. How we used to chat for hours on end, as I brushed her lustrous, raven locks. Months, and months passed, but she never appeared. Expectantly waiting in my seat, I crossed my fingers painfully tight, keeping my eyes on the classroom door; still no sight of her.
News spread like contagion that she was in the hospital with stage four cancer - unlikely to make it - and I felt my heart freeze, and shatter into a million shards until there was an empty, gaping void in my chest. That day, I bolted to the hospital, a waterfall spewing from my eyes, bystanders shooting me dirty looks as I collided with them. Memories flickered in my head of the way she chuckled, the way she smiled, the eccentrically colourful way she dressed. The way she gazed at me.
THUD! Halting in my tracks, I peered up at the towering building, inhaling deeply before stepping inside.
“I’m here to see Evie Flores,” I announced to the receptionist. After I received the room number, I made my way upstairs with immense urgency. “No visitors allowed besides the girl’s family,” an elderly nurse icily explained, barricading the door. Impatient, I wriggled past him, and shoved the door open.
“Aisha?” her voice was scarcely a whisper, “What are you doing here?” Her family members - who surrounded her bed - all turned to face me, and my heart rate quickened profusely. I was on top of the world prior to this, but I suddenly became lost for words. Gazing up at her, I noticed she didn’t possess lustrous, raven locks anymore, nor did she wear an eccentrically colourful outfit, instead a bleak hospital gown. However, when my eyes met hers, I captured the same glint that brought me here in the first place.
“Evie…” I cleared my throat, and mustered up the courage to speak, “I love you more than anything! I always have, and I always will: I need you to know this before we part ways forever.” With a familiar bittersweet smile, she intertwined her fingers with mine, but before she could respond, her eyes fluttered closed. I knelt by her side, content to stay there forever.
By Jett Pon
Lillian Stafford
Scott Martin
This dress incorporates natural textures like bark, mushrooms, and lichen. While making it I was thinking about the delicacy of our world and how we need to take responsibility for it. My aim was to create garment that conveyed a sense of immersion in the natural world, it would literally surround you with multiple layers like the dying forests of our world. Through this artwork I hope to encourage viewers to think more about the impact of the climate crisis and highlight the beauty and fragility of nature.
By Theodora Travers
Depressive realism. Or Delusional optimism. Our perspectives, Our situations, All affect the way we see the world.
Because, We don’t see things the way THEY are. We see things the way WE are.
I am NOT What happens to me;
I am what I choose to BECOME.
Vinny Riches
THE EXPRESSIONIST’S
TALE
As the thought of imperfection would damage my wits, I wretchreach towards the pits of my stomach and transparently sketch a face I did not know.
Fallen behind in the race of life, whilst so voluntarily throwing hurdles in any direction.
As I trip, I visit places I have not yet been, begin to reminisce on times I have not yet seen.
The expressionist has come to die as he meets his demise.
A great streak will appear through the sky, one last time. Yet in that moment, death didn’t feel so imminent.
The underlying cause still hinders his mind.
As in time, we will find time to find.
The doves shall sing my song-one last cry. And he will smile as his wits’ end greets him, yet so kind.
Patiently replied: let me love, please let me find the air that will soften my glow, the energy that will heal this socalled joke, the atmosphere that nobody knows. The sky has its limits.
If you are to fall, the ground has been known to soften for a dreamyet belittle anyone below, and then strike with the final blow.
-
The Expressionist’s Tale 30.11.2024
YOUNG CREATIVE OF THE MONTH SPOTLIGHT ON: AMY JOLLIFFE
Every month we give away £100 prize and feature a young artist on our website. We caught up with singer-songwriter Amy Jolliffe from Binstead, our featured artist for March 2025, to find out what she’s been up to in 2025.
“In March, I was awarded funding from the Mike Howley Trust, which I used for live performance equipment, and to record new music at Empire Sound Studio.
I recently started volunteering at Vectis Radio and have now started co-hosting the Thursday afternoon shows with Jack from 1 – 4. I am passionate about local music and I thought this is a great way to support local musicians. We will be reading the island’s gig guide every week, as well as discussing fun facts and local news, and hopefully we will have some special guests too!
In 2026, I am hoping to release a lot more original music and to do more performances. I am so passionate about music and I am excited to see where this takes me.”
You can find Amy’s full interview, links to her music and socials, as well as all information on all of our other Young Creatives on the Brave Island Blog.
If you’d like to receive £100 to help with your creative practice, you can apply at BraveIsland.uk
Brave Island is not responsible for the views of its contributors. The copyright of the photos and articles published are of their authors. No part of this zine may be reproduced without written permission from the publisher.
