THE SIT DOWN
06: GEORGIA BEAUMONT
There’s a certain quiet defiance in Georgia Beaumont’s story — an art school drop-out now exploring the realms of panpsychism in her work.
Beaumont left art school early, dropping out of UAL, and for a while, stopped creating completely. Painting felt distant, uncertain. She moved into restaurant PR, swapped brushes for a keyboard, and then found herself moving to Barcelona. It was there, in a small studio rented on the side of jobs, that she began again. Slowly, consistently, she discovered she could paint every day — that practice could be its own form of education.
Three years later she returned to the UK, aged 25, with no degree and no clear plan, moving back in with her father in Dorset. Those two years became a turning point: quiet, rural, and, at times, isolating — but full of rhythm. Walking daily through the countryside, she began to observe change on a slower timescale: light shifting, buds forming, the soft intelligence of growth. It was here her language of botanical forms began to take shape. Her paintings from that time translated the motion of leaves, stems, and sky into an intuitive visual system — one that felt both natural and invented.
Beaumont’s work moves between observation and imagination. Painted onto wooden panels, her compositions fuse memory, poetry, and mind’s-eye imagery. What might look, at first glance, like flowers are rarely literal. “Sometimes I feel it’s a language,” she says, “like letters or forms, rather than this being a flower.” That abstraction — or perhaps evolution — is central to her process. The spontaneity comes first, the structure after. The result is a body of work that feels alive: blush-toned, romantic, and quietly electric.
Colour, for Beaumont, is intuitive. She speaks often of poetry — of the “blushy, romantic tones” she draws from it — and her palettes echo that sensibility: veils of rose, pale golds, soft greens that seem to hover rather than sit. There’s a dreaminess to them, but also discipline — a painter’s instinct honed not through instruction but through repetition, trial, and joyful mistake.
Her philosophy edges towards panpsychism — the belief that consciousness runs through all matter. It’s there in the way her stems reach, the way her compositions seem to think and feel. Nature, for Beaumont, is not backdrop but mirror: a reflection of our own inner landscapes of thought and emotion. Her paintings hold that reciprocity — between the animate and inanimate, the seen and the sensed.
Since returning to London in 2023, she’s been painting full time. A group show led to a sold-out debut, and in 2024 she held her first solo exhibition at Wilder. Beaumont paints to stay attuned — to nature, to change, to the quiet pulse that connects all things. In her hands, a curve of pigment can become a leaf, a feeling, or a fragment of consciousness itself.
Beaumont left art school early, dropping out of UAL, and for a while, stopped creating completely. Painting felt distant, uncertain. She moved into restaurant PR, swapped brushes for a keyboard, and then found herself moving to Barcelona. It was there, in a small studio rented on the side of jobs, that she began again. Slowly, consistently, she discovered she could paint every day — that practice could be its own form of education.
Three years later she returned to the UK, aged 25, with no degree and no clear plan, moving back in with her father in Dorset. Those two years became a turning point: quiet, rural, and, at times, isolating — but full of rhythm. Walking daily through the countryside, she began to observe change on a slower timescale: light shifting, buds forming, the soft intelligence of growth. It was here her language of botanical forms began to take shape. Her paintings from that time translated the motion of leaves, stems, and sky into an intuitive visual system — one that felt both natural and invented.
Beaumont’s work moves between observation and imagination. Painted onto wooden panels, her compositions fuse memory, poetry, and mind’s-eye imagery. What might look, at first glance, like flowers are rarely literal. “Sometimes I feel it’s a language,” she says, “like letters or forms, rather than this being a flower.” That abstraction — or perhaps evolution — is central to her process. The spontaneity comes first, the structure after. The result is a body of work that feels alive: blush-toned, romantic, and quietly electric.
Colour, for Beaumont, is intuitive. She speaks often of poetry — of the “blushy, romantic tones” she draws from it — and her palettes echo that sensibility: veils of rose, pale golds, soft greens that seem to hover rather than sit. There’s a dreaminess to them, but also discipline — a painter’s instinct honed not through instruction but through repetition, trial, and joyful mistake.
Her philosophy edges towards panpsychism — the belief that consciousness runs through all matter. It’s there in the way her stems reach, the way her compositions seem to think and feel. Nature, for Beaumont, is not backdrop but mirror: a reflection of our own inner landscapes of thought and emotion. Her paintings hold that reciprocity — between the animate and inanimate, the seen and the sensed.
Since returning to London in 2023, she’s been painting full time. A group show led to a sold-out debut, and in 2024 she held her first solo exhibition at Wilder. Beaumont paints to stay attuned — to nature, to change, to the quiet pulse that connects all things. In her hands, a curve of pigment can become a leaf, a feeling, or a fragment of consciousness itself.