It is midday. Outside the sky is grey and it is very cold. Sara Wilson is in her studio gallery in Forte dei Marmi intent upon painting a still life. Looking in through the wide windows one sees a garden. Flowers bloom in every corner, even on the walls. It is winter outside but inside it is spring.

This is the artist's world, a world of innocence, her own reality with no gratuitous abstract, no unnecessary play of colour. In the foreground is a large pumpkin glowing with summer colour, various objects and dried branches lie within, a new subject the artist is painting. On the walls are baskets of fruit, courtyards full of flowers, seascapes and landscapes of suffused colours. The flowers and the landscapes have a timeless quality, in which some critics might have chosen to find a rigid "English" atmosphere; this is an old song, sung by a type of intellectual who needs to search for vague similes.

Such opinions admit neither the personality of the artist, nor a life full of experience and emotions. Sara Wilson inhabits, owns and rules her own artistic world and interprets a clear vision of the message of nature. Within her paintings are secrets known only to the artist, where none other may enter and what happens inside the composition is part of a subtle game of the unconscious. Rather than being self indulgent, the realism is disciplined, respectful and coherent. As an artist, Sara Wilson paints with radiance, clarity, feeling and simplicity; she is always profoundly faithful to the slightest of life's pulses. Her aim is to reproduce real atmosphere without resorting to dangerous metaphor.