Distorted nostalgia, haunted objects, and cinematic fantasy converge in the surreal universe of Tavarna Caris Garvey. Raised among vintage toys, glowing VHS tapes, and folkloric imagery, the practice draws from childhood memory, horror iconography, and a deep reverence for artifice. Each image conjures a disjointed fairy tale—part dreamscape, part domestic theatre—where tenderness and unease blur into one.

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How has your upbringing or cultural heritage shaped the themes and techniques you explore in your art today?

I’m from a village on the outskirts of Sheffield, an industrial city in the north of England. I grew up in the late 90s and early 2000s as the youngest of three siblings,  with two parents who worked I spent a lot of time in front of the TV.  Back then, our TV only had 5 channels, but our collection of VHS tapes introduced to a variety of classic movies. A lot of my early memories revolve around movies; in one instance, I can recall entering a room to be confronted with the Fireys scene from Labyrinth randomly playing on screen. It gave me the most overwhelming sense of terror and instantly became one of my favourite movies. When I was around 6 years old, I left my dad shocked by telling him I’d never seen ‘The Wizard of Oz’

He didn’t have a lot of free time, but on this occasion, he dropped everything and insisted that we watch it immediately.  It gave the film this sense of significance, which really left an impression on me. A few years later, ‘Return to Oz’ was scheduled to play on TV,  and he made sure we sat and watched that together too. I loved the sequel even more because it was so disturbing. The once technicolour landscapes of Oz had become ravished by age and decay.  I was mesmerised by the decapitated dancing statues and shattered remnants of the yellow brick road. 

From a young age, I was drawn to horror; I adored Goosebumps books and ghost stories. I spend many hours reading up on strange phenomena, unsolved mysteries and cryptozoology. I’d give myself nightmares, but still felt compelled to return for more. My mother painted trees and fairy murals on the walls of my yellow childhood bedroom. I had glow stars on the ceiling and green carpet, I liked to pretend was grass grass-filled meadow.

Our house was full of colour with music always playing. My dad collected vintage action figures and had a huge selection of Vinyl records. My mom had shelves of porcelain dolls,  fairy statues and classic literature. She read me The Hobbit, as soon as she got the chance and  instilled in me a love of fantasy and folklore.

Art is often chosen as a medium for its freedom. Why do you personally turn to art, rather than another form of expression?

Art has always been an essential part of my life. As soon as I could pick up a pencil or paint brush I was constantly creating. I spent most of my childhood being obsessed with fairytales and the idea of secret worlds. I was certain my toys came to life when I was asleep, an idea that both horrified and thrilled me. We’d often go for a walk in the nearby woods. For me, it felt like an enchanted forest, and I’d hope to catch a glimpse of a fairy.

As I got older and stopped believing in such things, I became slightly disillusioned with reality and its lack of magic. It was later that I began to realise that Art is a kind of magic; it can be an illusion we create to tell a story. I continued dreaming up my own worlds and stories and became obsessed with the idea of developing them into something I could share with others. Initially, I was drawn to filmmaking, but in recent years I’ve discovered alternative methods of exploring concepts and ideas through photography and other forms of art. 

Can you share a moment when someone’s unexpected interpretation of your art gave you a new perspective? 

While I don’t have a specific example, I  really enjoy learning how my Art is perceived by an audience. My art is told through non-linear stories, a collage of ideas and emotions. Even if I have a set idea of a character or concept, I like the final project to have a sense of mystery. I feel that ambiguity is crucial to my work, and I include it intentionally. I think allowing room for interpretation in art can contribute to the overall immersive experience. I want to encourage others to feel a connection to the work by allowing them to project their own theories. Although elements of horror feature prominently in my work, I occasionally feel compelled to evoke a dreamlike atmosphere or explore other themes, yet my work continues to be interpreted as creepy or disturbing. 

I often photograph still objects, such as dolls, ornaments and toys. Usually, I choose objects I think are vibrant or just interesting, but usually, the reaction I’m told is that others just find them unsettling. It’s funny to me that horror always seems to creep its way into my art, whether I like it or not.

How do you reignite creativity during those inevitable periods of self-doubt or stagnation?

I accept that it’s inevitable; it’s part of the creative process. The important thing is to move forward;  I’ve begun to realise negativity and self-doubt are just a waste of energy. I try to remind myself of how much I enjoy the process of being a creative. It’s important to remember the joy and peace that only art can bring me. I know I’ll feel that joy again eventually. Sometimes it just takes time to fall back in love with creating. 

Of course, I have phases in which I feel unmotivated; in these instances, I try to start a new project. If that doesn’t work, I either try a different medium. For example, if I’m creating a miniature installation which isn’t quite coming together, I’ll think of a way I could incorporate it into my photography instead. On other occasions, I’ll just leave a project for a few days and return to it when I’m feeling more positive. I like to go back to something like a film or book I love, and that usually sparks inspiration to create something new. The main goal I strive towards is to keep consistent.

What unusual or unexpected sources of inspiration have deeply influenced your work?

I remember coming across a book cover when I was a child while shopping with my mother. We were browsing the aisles of a bookshop in the city centre when I was instantly captivated by one of the paperbacks. The cover image featured an open mouth, drenched in sparkling lip gloss with a pill balanced between its teeth. The title read‘ Valley of the Dolls’ beneath the words ‘The Cult Classic’. It was disturbing, provocation and glamorous all at once! I’d never seen anything quite like it before. I was dying to read it, but of course I was too young at that time. However, that glossy cover art and evocative title remained seared into my brain for years. The book found its way back to me when I was a teenager. I had skipped school and was aimlessly wandering around the city centre. I decided to step into the local library, and by chance, there was a copy of  Valley of the Dolls with the exact same cover image. I finally got my chance to read it, and I was hooked.  It unlocked a fascination with soap opera, melodrama and tragic glamour that I’ve never been able to escape. Looking back at my work, I can’t think of anything else that’s had such an impact on me. Almost everything I’ve ever made has traces of ‘Valley of the Dolls. ’ 

If you had the chance to sit down with any creative mind from history, who would it be and what would you ask?

I think I’d like to discuss art and creativity with Kate Bush; her work is so unique and innovative. She spans beyond being just a musician; her lyrics and imagery have this cinematic quality to them. As a child, I vividly remember watching Kate Bush music videos on VHS. They were a kaleidoscope of intense visuals set to haunting and dramatic melodies. The video for the song ‘Breathing’  really stayed with me: the shots of people with blue skin at the end of the video really affected me. I was so disturbed by it that I refused to listen to any of her music for years. Then, as an adult, quite often people would tell me I reminded them of Kate Bush, so I felt compelled to revisit her music and, of course, became a fan. I really admire her ability to portray a serious message with emotion and artistry in a way that still feels personal to her. I also like how often she references films and the overall theatrical quality of her videos.  

List five core themes or messages you aim to convey through your art.

✧ Dreams 

I’ve been an insomniac for as long as I can remember. Sleep has always been elusive and nonsensical to me, so it captivates my imagination. I’m fascinated by the landscape of dreams and how our minds basically play out storylines through images and sound while we sleep. The language of dreams transcends age and culture; it’s a universal experience. I don’t like restrictions and logic, so I appreciate how dreams are just a collection of raw human emotions. That idea alone provides me with endless inspiration.

 

✧ Artificiality

I’m constantly interested in weaving together the real and the unreal. So much of the reality we portray to each other is a farce; humans constantly delude and lie to themselves. We romanticise our pain and constantly perform for one another. In my most recent project, ‘Dollhouse Dreams, ’ I wanted to reflect a lot on the roles we all play, by breathing life into inanimate objects.

 

✧ Domestic Space

I love the idea that a space itself can become a character. It’s intriguing to me how interior spaces can reflect the individuals that inhabit them. I really enjoy still life photography because I can photograph a series of curated objects on a bedside table or vanity, and it can instantly present the audience with an idea of individual subject. 

 

✧ Horror

Horror has always felt familiar to me; it surrounds us throughout life. Art gives me a controlled space to explore my fears and exercise my anxieties around life. I’m very influenced by the idea of exploring the things that scare me and trying to understand them more deeply. 

 

✧ Nostalgia

I’m really drawn to the themes of nostalgia, reflections of lost dreams or faded memories. These are the concepts that really drive me. I want my imagery to take the audience to another reality that feels both familiar and distant. A place you’ve been before but can’t quite remember. There’s something so beautiful to me about the feeling of a time or place that’s just out of reach. 

 

✧ Humour

I often delve into some heavy themes in my work, such as death, addiction and depression.  When I find myself focusing too much on the negativity of the world, I remind myself not to take life too seriously. Ultimately, life is full of complexity, and I use laughter to cope with the tragedies beyond my control. More than anything, I strive to add a touch of tongue-in-cheek humour and sense of playfulness to my work.

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