I didn’t plan this painting—I felt it. The storm came first, not just outside, but within me. It brought a weight I couldn’t put into words, so I let the canvas hold it. The deep blues, the heavy greys—each stroke was a reflection of what I couldn’t say out loud. And then, slowly, light found its way in. A gentle yellow, a softened glow. Not bright, not bold—but present. Persistent.
This piece is called “Hope” because that’s what it became. Not the loud kind of hope, but the quiet kind—the kind that sits with you in the dark and reminds you the sun is still there, even if it’s shining differently. The storm didn’t end the painting. It inspired it.
This painting is painted on loose thick primed canvas with Matt finish and needs to be stretched
I didn’t plan this painting—I felt it. The storm came first, not just outside, but within me. It brought a weight I couldn’t put into words, so I let the canvas hold it. The deep blues, the heavy greys—each stroke was a reflection of what I couldn’t say out loud. And then, slowly, light found its way in. A gentle yellow, a softened glow. Not bright, not bold—but present. Persistent.
This piece is called “Hope” because that’s what it became. Not the loud kind of hope, but the quiet kind—the kind that sits with you in the dark and reminds you the sun is still there, even if it’s shining differently. The storm didn’t end the painting. It inspired it.
This painting is painted on loose thick primed canvas with Matt finish and needs to be stretched
