I really enjoyed all the references to art in the picture book. Whilst it might not be the case that all readers will be able to make those links, what is it you hope they will get from seeing the art you present within Mildred’s story and how does Mildred’s own character echo these desires?

We see the works in the gallery through Mildred’s eyes - almost as if she’s taking us on a personal tour. Because she is a cat, she gets distracted by details like the fish in a painting or a statue that looks like her tail. Of course, if a reader were to visit a modern art gallery today they probably wouldn’t find it to be so cat-focussed. They might, however, find a painting that makes them feel happy, or a sculpture that reminds them of their friend. Engaging with art can be a deeply personal experience, and this is why so many of us find it so fulfilling.

Working in the gallery, I saw first hand how kids react to art - particularly modern art, which can often be especially challenging or provocative. I think sometimes an adult might dismissively look at a painting by an abstract expressionist artist like Jackson Pollock and think, ‘I could do that’. But then a child might look at the same painting - a big, messy, fun series of paint splodges - and think ‘I could do that!!’. I think it’s so important to encourage creativity - not just in schools and early development, but for all of us, and if I can encourage a reader to pick up a paintbrush then I’ll have done my job.

Can we talk a little about your use of mixed media throughout the book. I thought the effect was fascinating - to the point where it felt like Mildred’s world was popping off the pages. What was the effect that you were aiming for?

I really love illustration that plays with different textures and mark-making, but all of my work is actually made digitally. I’ve got a big collection of scanned textures - paper, card, textiles, and cut and paste and scribble all over them in Photoshop.

When I first got into illustration, it was through printmaking. I made lino and woodcuts, and really loved how the carving and printing process could sometimes lead to unpredictable results, as well as those beautiful inky textures. Unfortunately, I hate cleaning up, and eventually made the switch away from the messy, inky process of printmaking to a much more manageable digital medium - now all my chaos is safely contained in my laptop.

Working with relief prints meant that my approach to ‘drawing’ was actually a method of subtraction: when you carve a block of lino, you work on the bits that you don’t want to see, cutting away all the excess material. I still work this way: whenever I go to make an illustration, I start with a full canvas, either a paper texture or a digital painting. I then start chipping away at it, cutting off corners here and there. I try to keep my lines loose and not think about it too much - sometimes my hand slips and it ends up giving the shape just the right level of character.

It's always fascinating to hear about the process from initial sketches and ideas to the finished product. Could you talk us through a spread from the book that you're particularly proud of? How did it evolve from the initial idea to the final piece?

My original dummy was quite a bit more destructive – Mildred ends up wrecking all of these famous artworks, and her final masterpiece is made up of ruined works by Piet Mondrian and Barbara Hepworth. However, we made the decision that Mildred probably shouldn’t destroy too much of the Tate’s collection, and swapped out most of the priceless artwork debris for paint pots, scaffolding and building materials.

I struggled quite a bit with the final reveal: our first look at Mildred’s accidental masterpiece! I tried a few things, but everything ended up looking like a messy pile rather than a breathtaking work of art. It took the feedback of a friend’s five year old daughter to get it right - her only comment was that it was a shame that Mildred didn’t get the recognition for her work. Taking that on board, I turned the final spread into a giant, chaotic self portrait.