Her process sits at the intersection of intuition and heightened perception. As a neurodivergent artist, Mayer experiences sound as something deeply internal, shaping not only what she creates, but how she inhabits the act of making. The resulting works are not representations of music, but extensions of it, capturing the shifting states, energies and emotional textures that sound leaves behind.
There is a clear sense that these paintings are designed to be felt as much as seen. Moving fluidly between memory and immediacy, Mayer constructs visual environments that alter the atmosphere of a space, inviting the viewer into a more sensory, immersive encounter with painting.
Your paintings are rooted in sound. How do you begin translating a piece of music or a sonic experience into a visual form?
I begin by listening deeply, usually through noise-cancelling headphones, until I feel myself fully inside the sound. I’m not trying to translate music literally or illustrate what I hear. It’s much more instinctive than that.
As a neurodivergent person, I experience sound, emotion and atmosphere very intensely. Music doesn’t stay outside me – I feel it physically and emotionally. I’m highly sensitive to vibration, tone, rhythm and the emotional energy of a track, so the starting point is always how the sound moves through my body and changes my state.
From there, colour, movement and gesture begin to emerge. The first marks are usually very intuitive. I try not to overthink them. I let the rhythm, tempo, tone and feeling of the sound guide the movement of my body, almost like a dancer responding to music. The painting then begins to unfold from that place.
Do you typically work from a specific track, or from the memory and emotional residue of sound?
Both of those things are intertwined.
I often work from a specific track, but if it’s a piece of music I already know, it inevitably carries an emotional residue. It holds memories, associations and feelings that are already alive in me before I start painting.
The exception is when I’m working with a completely new piece of music. On the first listen, it can feel like pure vibration – sound before memory. But even then, once I’ve listened to it a few times, emotion begins to attach itself to the experience.
So for me, sound and memory are rarely separate. Music has a way of carrying feeling long after the track has ended.
You’ve spoken about shaping how a space feels as much as how it looks. How intentional is that when creating a work?
It’s absolutely essential. In many ways, it’s the whole reason for the work.
I strongly believe our environment shapes our wellbeing. The spaces we live and work in affect how we feel, often without us even realising it. Art is frequently the focal point of a room, so I don’t see it as neutral. It has a presence. It influences the atmosphere.
When I create a painting, I’m thinking about the energy it will hold and how it might shift the feeling of a space. I want the work to do more than look beautiful. I want it to offer something emotionally – whether that’s grounding, joy, expansion, calm, uplift or connection.
How do rhythm, tempo or structure in music influence your compositional decisions on canvas?
I tend to flow with the rhythm, tempo and notes, allowing them to move me in a similar way to a dancer.
It’s not so much about making formal decisions. It’s more about trusting my intuition and allowing the painting to reveal itself through the process.
A fast or layered track might bring more urgency, movement and energy into the marks. A slower piece might create more spaciousness or softness. I don’t plan this consciously in advance. I let the sound guide the pace of my body and the composition grows from there.
The structure of the music can also influence the painting. A build, a pause, a shift in tone or a repeated rhythm can all find their way into the work through layers, movement and balance.
Is there a difference in your process when working on a personal piece versus one connected to a specific sound or brief?
The main difference is the choice of the source sound and where the emotional connection begins.
With my personal work, I’m choosing the sound myself. It might be a track that already holds meaning for me, or one that creates a particular energetic state I want to explore.
With a commission, I’m tuning into the client. I’m listening to their voice, their memories, their chosen music and the feeling they want the painting to hold. The process becomes more collaborative at the beginning, because I need to understand what the sound means to them, not just what I hear in it.
But once I’m in the studio, the core of the process is the same. I’m still working through sound, intuition, movement and feeling.
Your collaboration with Faraday Club feels closely aligned with your practice. How did that relationship come about?
It actually happened very quickly.
I met the founder, Tim, at an event and we started talking about the influence of sound, environment and atmosphere on wellbeing. It was immediately clear that we shared similar values and beliefs.
Faraday Club is creating immersive sound-led spaces that help people connect more deeply with themselves, each other and their surroundings. That felt very aligned with the direction of my work.
So the collaboration felt like a very natural fit. It wasn’t something I had to force. The connection was already there.
What was it about Faraday Club’s focus on sound, wellbeing and atmosphere that resonated most with you?
When I first spoke with Tim, I got a real sense of his passion for creating spaces where people can reconnect – with each other, with themselves and with their senses.
That really resonated with me. I think so many of us are overstimulated and disconnected from our bodies, our environments and the present moment. We move through spaces without really feeling them.
Faraday Club’s approach recognises that sound and atmosphere can change how we feel. That is very close to how I think about painting. I’m interested in art as something that can shift a person’s state, not just sit passively on a wall.
How does encountering your work within a sound-led environment change the way it is experienced?
In my solo shows, I provide the tracks alongside the paintings, and I’ve watched people listen and look at the same time. You can see them becoming more present.
That is really the point for me. It’s about those moments of full presence, when the senses align and the outside world drops away for a while. The nervous system settles. You become immersed, even if only for a moment.
When the work is experienced in a sound-led environment, people are not just looking at the painting. They are feeling their way into it. The sound gives them another doorway into the work and helps them connect with the energy that created it.
You’re now offering bespoke commissions based on a meaningful track or memory. How do you approach translating something so personal into a painting?
I have always created these kinds of commissions, but they are a very intense and personal way of working. They are incredibly rewarding, but they require a lot of emotional presence, so I took a break from them to focus on developing my own body of work.
I’m now opening up a very limited number of commission spaces again, as a way of offering collectors a more personal and immersive experience.
It begins with connection. I spend time with the client, listening to them talk about the feeling they want to find, hold onto or magnify. Sometimes that feeling is connected to a specific piece of music. Sometimes it comes from a memory, a relationship, a place, a transition or a moment in their life.
Through mindful questions and conversation, I guide them towards the emotional essence of what they want the painting to hold. When they reach that feeling, I can usually feel it too.
The music then helps me amplify it. I paint while listening back to our conversation, alongside any music they have chosen. The painting becomes a way of holding something deeply personal in visual form, not as a literal illustration, but as an energetic anchor.
Alongside your studio work, you run self-expression workshops. What role do these play within your wider practice, and what do you hope participants take from the experience?
When I began my abstract art practice, I was on a personal journey.
I had spent years making highly figurative, precise representations of what was in front of me. Looking inward was much harder. Without external references, I had to learn to trust myself. I had to meditate, let go of rules, play, make mistakes and experiment.
That process was incredibly liberating, and it changed far more than my art. It changed how I related to myself.
That is the feeling I want others to experience in my workshops. Most of the people who come to me have little or no art experience. Many work in environments where mistakes are costly, judged or punished. In my studio, they get to experience the opposite.
They discover that a mistake can lead to something wonderful. They can let go, loosen up, play with paint and enjoy the process without needing to get it “right.” I hope they leave feeling freer, more connected to themselves and more willing to trust their own expression.
What are you currently working on, and are there any upcoming projects or directions you’re particularly excited about?
I’m currently preparing for another solo exhibition in September.
I can’t say too much yet, but it’s the biggest gallery space I’ve worked in so far, and I’ll be collaborating with a poet, a sound healer and a musician. There will also be a programme of events taking place within the gallery, centred around wellbeing, sensory immersion and the relationship between sound, art and emotional experience.
The new work continues my exploration of sound, emotion, atmosphere and embodied experience – how music, memory and feeling can leave something behind, and how that after-effect can be held in paint.
It feels like the next natural step for me: bringing painting, sound, wellbeing and sensory experience together in a more immersive way.
For more information visit Kate’s website and Instagram
