Do not disturb: Early winter morning

Journal entry 8 June 2025

(...) Today I got to the studio very early, it’s my favourite time to start work; sleepy streets, and the day doesn’t ask anything of you yet. It's cold outside, and even colder in the studio. Bundled in warm layers from head to toe; I flick the kettle on.  

Yesterday’s paintings remain wet, leaving me with little to do. I sit and examine them, seeking something —I’ll know it when I see it. Hours pass in this meditative state, probing for meaning, or flaws, or the next step. To break the stall, I test colors, a simple task that structures the day without demanding perfection. The urge to avoid wasting time pulls at me; idleness feels like failure.  

I sit and examine them, seeking something —I’ll know it when I see it.

By lunchtime, I’ve gone through two teapots of spiced apple tea, and the sun has broken through. My palette is a mess of clashing colours, horrible mixes which I find strangely satisfying.  

I start a new painting on an old one. The act of painting over something else, pausing, and continuing implies that, no matter the past, there’s always room to create anew. It's a scary and exciting minute.

I tried a blind start – making a single stroke with closed eyes, and letting that guide the next move. It's an excellent way to short-circuit overthinking and tap into the intuitive flow. I can’t say the result is amazing but most of it will disappear under layers of paint. A fitting metaphor for how we craft ourselves from within: hidden layers, never fully revealed, yet always there. Love, rage, fear, bliss, fractures, and secret truths intertwined in every brushstroke ... It’s a story of homecoming.

This fundamental human act shines through art, books, photography, or even self-presentation. Like a painting, a life’s story is a blend of intentions and accidents, shaped by what we choose to reveal or conceal.  

I put the canvas aside for today. Tomorrow I will tell you more (...)

---

I hope you enjoyed this extract from my studio logbook. By the way, the preliminary sketch I am sharing here will go onto a large canvas. I create many of these, most remain unseen- but this one? to me, it really speaks to the meaning of home. A quiet longing, a peaceful knowing.