Pride, Belonging and the London I Love

Every June, London's streets burst into colour. Pride flags appear in shop windows, community centres, offices and homes. They are symbols of visibility, acceptance and the simple but powerful belief that everyone deserves to be seen for who they are.

For me, Pride has always represented something larger than sexuality or gender identity. It represents belonging.

It says: there is space for you here. Whether you were born in Brixton or Bangalore. Whether your family has lived in Britain for generations or you've just arrived. Whether you're gay, straight, trans, queer, questioning or simply trying to find your place in the world. There is space for you here.

Lately, though, I've noticed something that makes me a bit sad. Across parts of Britain and beyond, Pride flags are quietly disappearing from public spaces. At the same time, we've seen a resurgence of national symbolism, with St George's flags becoming increasingly prominent. Now, I have absolutely nothing against the St George's flag. National identity and cultural pride matter. They should be celebrated. But I don't believe these symbols need to compete with one another. One of the things London taught me is that pride isn't a finite resource. Celebrating one identity doesn't diminish another. A city can be proudly English and proudly diverse.

The best versions of London have always understood this. That's partly what inspired my Pride in London print series. I wanted to reimagine some of London's most recognisable landmarks through the colours of Pride. Not as political statements, but as celebrations. Celebrations of visibility, diversity and the wonderfully varied people who make this city what it is. The prints are colourful because London is colourful.

When I think about inclusion, I often think about Brixton. Brixton has long been one of London's great stories of migration, culture and reinvention. It's a place where communities from around the world have shaped the character of a neighbourhood while preserving pieces of their own heritage. That's why one of my favourite illustrations is my Brixton print, where the market is draped with the flags of many nations. To me, those flags don't represent division. They represent contribution. They tell the story of people who arrived from somewhere else and helped create the Brixton we know today. Every flag represents a journey. Every flag represents a family. In many ways, that's my story too.

It's also the idea behind another collection that is particularly close to my heart- Migrants of London.

The series celebrates the migratory birds that arrive in Britain every year from across Europe, Africa and beyond. Birds don't carry passports. They don't apply for visas. They don't stop at borders. They simply arrive. Drawn by instinct, seasons and survival. And every year, Britain welcomes them. Nature doesn't see migration as a threat. It sees it as part of life.

Their journeys enrich our landscapes. Their presence is celebrated. The city becomes more vibrant because they are here. When I created the Migrants of London series, I wasn't trying to make a political statement. I was trying to tell a story about movement, connection and shared space. The more I think about it, the more connected these projects feel.

Especially now, when conversations around identity can feel increasingly polarised, I think it's worth remembering that inclusion isn't about choosing one flag over another. It's about making room for more flags. That's something worth celebrating during Pride Month.

And it's something worth celebrating every month of the year.