I’m Sarah Toner, a pyrography artist fascinated by the slow, deliberate process of burning intricate patterns into wood.

My journey started at 27, in 2017, when I created a longboard for my partner, Liam, while he was away travelling for several months. I learnt how to woodburn while he was away - it was a way to fill the space his absence left, to channel my energy into learning something new, and ultimately to surprise him with something made entirely by my hand.

I was initially drawn to the way pyrography could create depth and texture without the need for color—a way to bring images to life through nothing but heat and patience. But along the way, it has become my meditation and something that quietens my mind.

That first piece sparked an obsession, and thousands of hours later, I’m still at it.

For me, every piece begins with a feeling—an image that needs to be released. The initial sketch is quick, just enough to set the foundation, and then I begin burning. The design grows from there, evolving with each stroke. It is usually the stage of refining details and perfecting lines that takes the majority of the hours.

I spend as much time staring at a piece, deciding what it needs, as I do actually burning it. My process is slow, often stretching over 60, 70, 80, sometimes over 100 hours, and shaped by the unpredictability of wood, my own shaky hands, and an almost obsessive attention to detail.

Although I started burning in 2017, I struggled for years to complete a piece. Through the disconnection of COVID, the intensity of new motherhood, and the weight of undiagnosed ADHD, my creative drive flickered and eventually went quiet. I stopped burning altogether.

But since receiving my ADHD diagnosis late last year, something shifted. I’ve been able to focus, finish, and stay connected to my creativity. I completed every unfinished piece within weeks—and now, I find myself woodburning daily (in every free moment i can find).

My two-year-old son often leans over my shoulder as I work, pointing and saying, “Mummy’s drawing,” tracing the lines with his fingers.

Pyrography has become my anchor. A way to find myself again amid the chaos of parenting and everyday life. I used to question when a piece was done, doubt my instincts, and wonder if I could really call myself an artist.

Now, I’m learning to trust the process and my intuition—and to step back and let the work speak for itself.