These days, my easel holds a canvas that feels particularly significant, a large-scale painting exploring the interplay of light and memory. The piece is inspired by the golden hour, that fleeting moment when daylight softens and everything seems bathed in warmth. Each stroke is a meditation on time, on the way light can transform not just landscapes but emotions, evoking nostalgia and fleeting joy. Layers of translucent yellows and oranges are punctuated by bold strokes of indigo, a contrast that mirrors the duality of memory—both luminous and shadowed.

A young woman with blonde hair and glasses, in a tartan shirt with grey fingerless gloves, is painting an orange and yellow sunset with mint green rolling hills with dark forest behind.

Another work in progress on a smaller canvas is part of an ongoing series delving into the theme of resilience. This piece is abstract, dominated by textured layers of deep oranges and earthy browns, with bursts of soft greens emerging like life breaking through the soil. I’ve been experimenting with unconventional tools—palette knives, sponges, even my hands—to create a tactile, almost sculptural surface. This process has been both challenging and liberating, forcing me to relinquish control and embrace the unexpected.

A young woman with glasses and blonde hair worn in a long plait, in a green top, is painting a deep Indian yellow and burnt orange painting of a sunset behind a bridge in a dark brown forest. She is holding a big and long hog bristle brush.

Pinned to the walls around me are sketches and beginnings of future projects. One depicts a surreal dreamscape, blending elements of nature and urban life into an almost otherworldly tableau. Another is a study in portraiture, an attempt to capture not just the likeness but the very essence of my subject. These preliminary works remind me that every masterpiece begins with a humble line, a single spark of inspiration.

A wooden cabin studio with unfinished paintings of various stages littered around the room, with colourful bunting, hanging plants, led lighting, and scattered paint brushes, materials and palettes on the desks and easels.

Sharing in-progress pieces has also taught me the value of vulnerability. There’s something profoundly humbling about exposing unfinished work, allowing others to witness the raw, unpolished stages of creation.

“Art is not about perfection but about connection—the intangible thread that binds artist and audience through shared emotion and experience.”

Close up of paint tubes bent out of shape with leaky tops an smears of paint on the labels, showing clear signs of use and work in progress. A jar of medium is visible too.

As I continue to work on my current paintings and prepare for the next, I am reminded of the studio’s most profound gift—its ability to transform not just what I create but who I am. And as the sun sets, casting its final golden light across the room, I feel a quiet gratitude for this space that allows me to dream, to create, and to share my world with others.

The Unfinished Canvas

Wild Strokes and Quiet Places