Nikki Conigliaro Art and Photography

Nikki Conigliaro Art and Photography Artist and Photographer Cumbria based Fine Artist

30/04/2026

Something new is forming…
and it feels different.

I didn’t plan it.
It didn’t arrive as a clear idea or a finished concept.

It came in fragments.

In the stories I kept returning to.
In the pull towards women who exist in the spaces between destruction and renewal.

Women who are not always soft.
Not always understood.
But deeply connected — to the earth, to cycles, to something older than the world we live in now.

The more I’ve been working, the more I’ve realised this isn’t about creating something perfect.

It’s about creating something honest.

Something that doesn’t try to control or fix —
but restores.

There is a kind of feminine strength that doesn’t need to prove itself.

It listens.
It adapts.
It endures.

And when something breaks…
it rebuilds.

Quietly.

I’m not ready to share it fully yet.

But I think you’ll feel it when I do.





27/04/2026

What if she wasn’t taken…
but chose to descend?

We’re often told Persephone’s story as something that happened to her.
As if she had no choice.
No voice.

But there’s another way of seeing it.

A quieter version of the story —
where her descent isn’t just loss…
but transformation.

Because sometimes, the deepest growth doesn’t happen in the light.

It happens when life shifts — quietly or suddenly —
and you find yourself in a place you didn’t expect to be.

A place that feels unfamiliar.
Uncomfortable.
Even dark.

And yet… something in you knows you can’t go back.

Only through.

Persephone doesn’t return from the underworld as the same girl.
She returns as Queen.

Changed.
Stronger.
More whole.

I think a lot of us have known that feeling.

Moments where something in life asks more of us than we feel ready for —
and somehow, we meet it anyway.

Maybe the descent isn’t something to fear.

Maybe it’s part of becoming.





25/04/2026

I’ve been a little quieter lately.

Not because I’ve stopped creating…
but because I’ve been listening.

To the world.
To myself.
To that quiet feeling that something isn’t quite aligned —
and the need to step back before moving forward again.

The truth is, everything has felt a little heavier recently.
And I found myself asking what it means to create in the middle of that.

What does art do…
when things feel uncertain, or overwhelming, or just too much?

And the only answer that felt honest was this:

It doesn’t fight for attention.
It doesn’t add to the noise.

It softens.
It holds.
It restores.

So I’ve been in the studio — slowly, quietly —
working on something that feels different to anything I’ve created before.

Not planned.
Not forced.

But something that’s been forming in its own time.

I think I’m ready to start sharing again.

If you’re still here… thank you.
And if you’ve been feeling that same need to slow down, to reconnect, to find something softer in the middle of everything —
you’re not alone in it.





12/04/2026

I’ve been thinking a lot about what strength actually looks like.

Not the kind we’re often shown —
loud, fast, unbreakable.

But something quieter.

Something that bends…
but doesn’t disappear.

There is a kind of feminine strength that doesn’t try to dominate or control.
It doesn’t need to prove itself.

It listens.
It adapts.
It endures.

And when something breaks —
it doesn’t just survive it.

It restores.

I keep coming back to stories of women who exist within that space.
Women connected to the earth, to cycles, to something older than the world we live in now.

Women who are not separate from nature…
but part of it.

Who understand that destruction is not the end —
it is part of the process of renewal.

And that rebuilding doesn’t always look dramatic.

Sometimes it looks like:

Returning.
Re-rooting.
Beginning again… slowly.

That’s what this new body of work is becoming.

Not perfect.
Not polished.

But honest.

And I think that matters more.












She is not darkness…she is the crossing.There are women in mythology who are often misunderstood.Placed in the shadows.A...
10/04/2026

She is not darkness…
she is the crossing.

There are women in mythology who are often misunderstood.
Placed in the shadows.
Associated with endings, with fear, with the unknown.

But what if they were never meant to be feared?

What if their role was something far more necessary?

There is a space that exists between what was… and what comes next.
A threshold.
A moment where you are no longer who you were —
but not yet who you are becoming.

It’s uncomfortable there.
Uncertain.
Easy to resist.

But it’s also where transformation begins.

She exists in that space.

Not to trap you…
but to guide you through it.

To hold the boundary between versions of yourself.
To ask you to let go of what cannot come with you.
To remind you that endings are not failures —
they are passages.

And maybe we’ve all stood at that crossing at some point.

Where something in life shifts — quietly or suddenly —
and we realise we can’t go back.

Only forward.
Through.

There is strength in that moment.
Even if it doesn’t feel like it at the time.

Because crossing over…
means you are changing.










08/04/2026

The world feels heavy right now.

It’s hard not to notice it.
The constant noise.
The conflict.
The feeling that everything is moving too fast… and not always in the right direction.

And I think, whether we realise it or not,
we carry that.

In our bodies.
In our thoughts.
In the quiet moments where everything catches up with us.

I’ve felt it more than usual lately.

That sense of wanting to step back.
To disconnect from the noise…
and reconnect with something slower. Something real.

And I keep coming back to this:

The earth doesn’t rush.
It doesn’t force itself to bloom.
It doesn’t fight the seasons it moves through.

It rests.
It sheds.
It rebuilds.

Quietly.

There is a kind of strength in that —
one that doesn’t look loud or forceful,
but is deeply rooted.

And maybe that’s what we need more of.

Not more pressure to keep up.
Not more urgency.

But permission to pause.
To ground.
To return to ourselves in a softer, more honest way.

I think that’s where I’ve been.

Not lost…
just listening.





Something new is forming…and it feels different to anything I’ve created before.I didn’t sit down and plan it.It didn’t ...
05/04/2026

Something new is forming…
and it feels different to anything I’ve created before.

I didn’t sit down and plan it.
It didn’t arrive as a neat idea or a finished concept.

It came slowly…
through fragments.

Through stories I kept returning to.
Through a pull towards women who exist on the edges of myth —
not always soft, not always understood,
but powerful in ways that don’t need permission.

Women who are connected to the earth.
To cycles.
To destruction and renewal.

Women who do not just survive what breaks…
but restore what comes after.

The more I’ve been working, the more I’ve realised —
this isn’t about individual goddesses in the way I’ve explored before.

This feels older than that.

Wilder.

Less about perfection…
and more about truth.

There’s something about the feminine that doesn’t try to control the world —
it moves with it.
It listens.
It rebuilds quietly, in ways that often go unseen.

And maybe that’s what we need more of right now.

Not more noise.
Not more force.

But something rooted.
Something ancient.
Something that reminds us that even after everything…
life continues to grow.

I’m not ready to share it fully yet.
But I think you’ll feel it when I do.


03/04/2026

What if she wasn’t taken…
but chose to descend?

We’ve been told Persephone’s story in a way that makes her small.
A girl taken into the underworld.
A victim of something darker, something outside of her control.

But what if that’s not the whole truth?

What if her descent wasn’t just loss…
but initiation?

There is a version of her story — quieter, less told —
where Persephone steps willingly into the underworld.
Not because it is easy…
but because something within her knows she cannot remain who she was.

Because sometimes growth doesn’t happen in the light.
Sometimes it asks you to walk into the parts of yourself you’ve been taught to avoid.

The grief.
The anger.
The uncertainty.
The versions of you that don’t feel soft or easy or understood.

And in that space —
you don’t disappear.

You become.

Persephone does not return from the underworld as the same girl.
She returns as Queen.
As someone who has seen both worlds…
and chosen to belong to herself.

I think a lot of us have known that descent in our own way.

Moments where life shifts, quietly or suddenly,
and we realise we are being asked to change…
even if we didn’t choose how it began.

But there is power in what we choose next.

In how we meet it.
In what we allow it to grow into.

Maybe the underworld isn’t something to fear.
Maybe it’s something we move through…
to become more whole.


01/04/2026

I’ve been quiet…
but not still.

There are seasons where creating feels effortless — where everything flows and makes sense.
And then there are seasons where you step back.
Where you observe more than you share.
Where something deeper is shifting beneath the surface, quietly asking for your attention.

This past while has felt like that.

Not a stopping…
but a returning.

Returning to the earth.
To slower rhythms.
To the kind of thinking that doesn’t demand answers straight away.

Because if I’m honest, the world has felt heavy.
There’s so much noise, so much conflict, so much disconnection —
and I found myself questioning what it means to create in the middle of all that.

What does art do… when things feel like they’re breaking?

And the only answer I could find was this:

It softens.
It remembers.
It restores.

So I’ve been in the studio, quietly working.
Not to escape the world…
but to understand it in a different way.

Through stories.
Through symbols.
Through women who have always existed in the spaces between destruction and renewal.

I’m not ready to share everything yet.
But I think I’m ready to return.

If you’re still here… thank you.
And if you’ve been feeling this too — the heaviness, the need to slow down, the pull to reconnect —
you’re not alone in it.

There is something shifting.
I think we can feel it.

So many women in myth were labelled dangerous, dark, or destructive — not because they were evil, but because they refus...
15/01/2026

So many women in myth were labelled dangerous, dark, or destructive — not because they were evil, but because they refused to be contained.

Medusa.
Lilith.
Hecate.

Their stories were softened, twisted, or turned into warnings.

I paint these figures not to romanticise them, but to return them to themselves — complex, powerful, and human.

These stories still matter because we’re still living them.

If you’ve ever been told you’re “too much”, this isn’t history.
It’s memory.



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