Sometimes art is mystifying. Sometimes we shake our heads in wonder and walk away no better off. Other times we stand in front of the work of an artist who captures so perfectly the essence of an emotion, we almost feel it rise in our chest. And then there are artists like Holly Farrell: quietly capturing everyday  beauty; making us see again the poetry of domestic bliss and showing us the way to honour it.

She’s capturing our lives here, Housekeepers. The elusive shabbiness of a battered pink chair and the fraying covers of our cherished collection of vintage cookbooks. If it wasn’t taking all my efforts to save up the trifle that is an ipod, I’d start a Holly Jar, and pop a penny  or three into it daily, until I could afford a piece of this gorgeous artists work.