As we come through the door at Rose Wylie’s house in Faversham, Kent, the 91-year-old emerges from a large brick fireplace. She’s lighting the fire – it resembles a bonfire more than a neat domestic hearth, logs heaped atop a cascading, precarious pile of silvery ashes. Wylie is wearing a skirt she has owned “for about 45 years” with black Caterpillar boots and her trademark dark lipstick. The boots make the floorboards creak in an edifying way as she walks. It’s a subtle statement of soft power, much like the artist’s paintings – huge but airy, pretty but punk, a presence in a room without being showy.
Rose Wylie. Photograph by Maureen Martinez-Evans
