This Coastal English Area Is Known for Stunning Beaches—but It’s Home to a Community of Artists, Too

I suppose there was a moment when someone hiked this cliff, above this opal-colored sea, for the very first time. Humans have occupied Cornwall, in southwestern England, since the Mesolithic period. Back then, however, they wouldn’t have seen the town of St. Ives in the distance, with its tiered cottages and fishing boats. I imagine they might have admired the purple heather on the hills, like I did, or maybe noticed a pair of gannets, like the ones I saw plunging into the water for fish. “This is an ancient area, a Celtic area,” Tom Kay, my hiking companion, told me—a fabled land of mermaids and giants. “There’s old myths everywhere.”

Kay is the founder of Finisterre, the Cornish outdoors brand. An ardent surfer, he started making fleece sweaters in St. Agnes in 2003, because nothing in the local wave shops suited the Cornish climate, so often windswept and cold. Finisterre now has stores in St. Ives and London, as well as 12 more across the U.K. The label is still headquartered in Cornwall, with the region’s history of craft woven into the designs. 

Kay held out a navy sweater he’d brought for our hike, made in collaboration with Britain’s Royal National Lifeboat Institution. The pattern is inspired by the Cornish gansey, which was originally knitted by fishermen’s wives and daughters: a tightly woven woolen style designed to keep out the wind and saltwater spray, with a pattern of chevrons above the chest. “In the 18th century, the nearby villages each had their own knit pattern so, if you got washed overboard or were lost at sea, they could identify where you came from by the pattern,” he said.

This was my first time in Cornwall, and I had only known the region for its greatest hits: beef-filled pasties, seaside holidays, a cultural identity that carries an independent political streak. (Cornish, a historic Celtic language, is now taught in some primary schools.) 

But St. Ives, which has a population of about 11,000, is also the region’s creative hub, and has deep artistic ties. J.M.W. Turner, the Romantic artist, painted some of his best-known works in the area. Barbara Hepworth, the 20th-century British sculptor, lived in town, where a museum and sculpture garden preserves her studio and works. Cornwall has suffered from long declines in the fishing and mining industries, but the arts community remains strong. 

In recent years, a new group of craftspeople and artisans—“makers,” basically—have hunkered down and are reviving old traditions. “There’s a lot of opportunity for creative work here,” Andrew Todd, a fashion designer and mixed-media artist, told me one morning over coffee. “It feels like Cornwall is building on its legacy of arts, crafts, and niche businesses.”

So what is it about the area that people find so inspiring? I flew in to London’s Gatwick airport last July and took a quick flight to Newquay, followed by a 40-minute drive down the coast. It was an easy trip, but a long one—I was traveling from Los Angeles—so when I checked in to the Harbour View House, I gratefully accepted a Negroni. Then I started to look around. With some surprise, I noticed the staff was young and the décor rustic and sunny. The vibe was kinda Melbourne, kinda Malibu. To discover the next morning that there was a surprisingly good breakfast burrito—well, if I hadn’t known St. Ives was a beach town, I did now.

My first outing was the cliff hike with Kay. He thought the coastal vistas were key to understanding what stirs creativity—the ruggedness of the hills, the soft colors. Afterward, I continued walking, but in a more urbane fashion: strolling the streets around my hotel. St. Ives is hilly, and filled with cottages, tiny shops, and art galleries, all of them overlooking a bay of fishing boats. In the summer, it’s also smashed with tourists. I was lucky to snag a table for lunch at St. Eia, a chic wine bar and coffee shop that served me a delicate, delicious sandwich filled with Cornish crab. 

A short walk later, I arrived at Leach Pottery, a town institution that’s both a museum and a working studio. Founded in 1920 by a pair of ceramists, Bernard Leach and Shoji Hamada, it continues to draw potters from around the world to learn from its unique melding of British and Japanese traditions. “Getting all this knowledge is highly coveted,” Callum Cowie, one of two current apprentices, told me. 

Roelof Uys, the studio’s lead potter, said generations of artists had traveled to Cornwall for its scenery and rustic, small-town culture. “It’s about a way of living, and living in a beautiful way,” he said. Historically, rent was also cheap. But that is no longer the case—especially since the pandemic, when Londoners snapped up coastal homes and prices spiked. Uys, who has lived in Cornwall for 26 years, worries that his children won’t be able to afford to stay when they grow up. 

Leach Pottery has persevered, he said, because of its devotion to the craft. “It’s about continuing the tradition of Cornwall being a place for creativity.”

For a fuller picture of Cornwall’s creative pedigree, I headed back toward the sea, to the Tate St. Ives. What other beach community can claim a major museum with ocean views? Opened in 1993, the Tate celebrates the area’s artistic legacy. One gallery had a special display of five abstracts by Mark Rothko. The paintings were originally commissioned for the Four Seasons restaurant in New York. But Rothko, who took a break from the murals in 1959 and visited St. Ives, decided they weren’t right for the Four Seasons and donated them to the Tate Gallery shortly before his death in 1970. I was able to sit quietly for 10 minutes and absorb them; for a moment, I honestly felt like they were speaking to me. 

I dined that night at the Fish Shed St. Ives, a light meal of oysters and french fries, and on a recommendation from my bartender, I finished the evening with a hike up to St. Nicholas Chapel (in the summer the sun sets as late as 9:30 p.m.). The church has been there since the 15th century, overlooking the beach. It made me wonder if the light had always been so sumptuous, and if it had seemed that way to people centuries ago. 

My second day started at Porthmeor Studios, possibly the oldest artists’ studios in England. It has provided workspaces for fishermen and artists since the 1880s—a truly Cornwall-esque combination—which meant some rooms were full of nets and buoys and others stocked with art. The artists I met were all professionals represented by galleries in London, New York, and beyond. I asked one painter, Philip Medley, if the ocean inspired him. His abstract work did not look remotely nautical, but his studio had massive windows that faced the sea. “Subconsciously it gets in,” he admitted. “Especially in the winter, when the weather kicks off. I’m not conscious of it, but I suspect it’s there.”

Perhaps that was the key. Cornwall is more than just a place—it harbors a mystery and mystique that stir the imagination. I spent my final afternoon in the nearby town of Penzance, where I visited a modern art gallery called the Exchange. Lunch was a Cornish beer and a superb mortadella sandwich at the Roundhouse, a tiny café housed in a Victorian-era toll booth whose owner bakes his own focaccia. I felt nourished—by art, by nature, by the spirit of people creating with their hands. To live and work in Cornwall has probably never been easy, but its tradition of resourcefulness and artistry is thriving more strongly than ever. 

A version of this story first appeared in the June 2025 issue of Travel + Leisure under the headline “Dyed in the Wool.”