"Hold your light" is a window I built for myself when home kept moving. I’ve spent hours in corridors and makeshift rooms, learning to make a small climate of care from almost nothing — a cup of water, a quiet lamp that turns into a moon. The sunflower is me: rooted for now, still turning toward a sun that sits just outside the frame. This isn't a view; it’s a brace, a threshold that gathers what I can keep.
I stripped the color to hear the structure of the moment. In grayscale, light stops being decoration and becomes an action — something I do. The pot, the ledge, the wooden edge hold the body together while the mind redraws its map. I paint to practice tenderness as a form of resistance: attention, breath, and the simple work of keeping orientation when the world tilts.
“Hold your light” is both a reminder and a promise. I carry my daylight the way others carry keys. Some days it flickers; some days it floods the room. But even in the narrowest niche, it is enough to face outward again. If you stand here with me — inside this quiet rectangle — you might feel your own light collecting, steady and living, waiting to be shared.
oil
29 Artist Reviews
£1,673.76
Loading
"Hold your light" is a window I built for myself when home kept moving. I’ve spent hours in corridors and makeshift rooms, learning to make a small climate of care from almost nothing — a cup of water, a quiet lamp that turns into a moon. The sunflower is me: rooted for now, still turning toward a sun that sits just outside the frame. This isn't a view; it’s a brace, a threshold that gathers what I can keep.
I stripped the color to hear the structure of the moment. In grayscale, light stops being decoration and becomes an action — something I do. The pot, the ledge, the wooden edge hold the body together while the mind redraws its map. I paint to practice tenderness as a form of resistance: attention, breath, and the simple work of keeping orientation when the world tilts.
“Hold your light” is both a reminder and a promise. I carry my daylight the way others carry keys. Some days it flickers; some days it floods the room. But even in the narrowest niche, it is enough to face outward again. If you stand here with me — inside this quiet rectangle — you might feel your own light collecting, steady and living, waiting to be shared.
oil
14 day money back guaranteeLearn more