Finally, after reworking this piece many times, today it reached completion.
Beneath many textured layers of shimmering gold, deep greens, blues, and soft whites, the figure, suspended between air and water, merges into an ethereal form, where the boundaries between elements gently dissolve.
40cm x 30cm x 4cm | Mixed media on panel .. it’s available DM for details
After a gruelling season where I felt I was drowning under the weight of things, I’d begun a series of works featuring swimmers. To my surprise, both Patrick and Andrea who love water, the ocean, and swimming didn’t respond positively to the works.
Andrea remarked that the works felt scary.
I was reluctant to abandon the works entirely and so, set them aside indefinitely. Months later, I retrieved them, reworked them with subtle revisions, and reconnected with the flow of them. This time, the works received a favorable response :-)
I wondered what had changed, and realized then, that I had.
From feeling overwhelmed before, I was now coming up for air, finding breath. This shift reflected in the work. It was no longer ‘scary’ and neither was I.
This piece is about searching—about looking beyond what is immediately visible and finding something deeply meaningful in the journey itself. The textures, built up in layers, hold the memory of time and movement, much like the land does. Earthy browns, deep greens, and flashes of gold emerge from the surface, revealing that even in rugged, uncertain terrain, there is treasure to be found.
Gold, to me, is more than just a color—it’s the promise of hope, of joy discovered in the quiet moments of looking forward. The horizon is not just a distant line but an invitation—an opening to something beyond where the eye can see. There’s a sense of resilience in that, in continuing to seek, to believe, to trust that light exists even in the most weathered landscapes.
With my heart stretched across the globe—from South Africa to Ireland and back—I find myself in a constant state of migration. Our hearts dwell in our children’s home in Ireland, yet our South African home in The Midlands holds us still. The countryside’s echo one another—lush, green, tranquil, misty, otherworldly, ancient. Like time itself, stretching in ways beyond our grasp, yet deeply known by the soul.
In 2021, before migrating to Ireland, I had the fortune of meeting two extraordinary women. They reached out, asking to visit me in my home studio. At the time, we were strangers, and life was a whirlwind—boxes stacked high, emotions tangled in the weight of leaving, the ache of change. And yet, that encounter was luminous. I spoke of my sorrow at leaving South Africa, even as my heart soared at the thought of reuniting with our children. They offered me a gift—simple yet profound: Both can be home. You can live there. And here.
That perspective has stayed with me ever since—liberating, connecting, empowering. These landscapes, these shelters on horizons, speak to that truth: Home can be here. And there.
At the time of writing this, post wedding-celebrations, I’ve been saying farewells: to my parents and my sister as they travel home to another province; to my daughter and her husband, and to my son and his wife; each traveling ‘home’ to other countries; and then saying final farewell to a dear, dear family friend, her passing to another realm after 90 years walking this earth. We’re pretty much in one way or another, bound for home. You can read my statement from the Finding Home exhibition here.
Shannon Michelle Photography captured some great moments at the opening of my solo exhibition Finding Home at &Kin here in The Midlands, KwaZulu-Natal South Africa. See the photos of the opening here.
We’re just a few weeks from moving into our new home and I’m considering the space I’m in right now, and things I’m grateful for.
I’ve included an ‘unintended’ image, as my camera had automatically switched to ‘selfie-mode’. I love THE LIGHT, streaming in from behind and all around me.
The intended photo, of these just completed little houses and huts on the shelf, drying. Two small works on my desk; of Africa and an umbrella-figure and dog.
My paintbrushes, that I have an abundance of and struggle to part with for even as they age, they have purpose.
The new wooden hare named Harris.
My studio space … and my palette, with my go-to-colours of Burnt Sienna, Indigo and Titanium white … earth-fire, sky-sea and light; with my treasured 38-year old palette knife; and a few birds-on-a-wire, in-progress.
Small things that bring great joy.
#grateful #joy #art #studio #light #home #paint #brushes #palette #africa
I'm working on a new mini-series in my studio. They’re still in the early stages, but I’m already in love with the texture of each piece.
Lately, I’ve been increasingly drawn to texture and have been wondering why.
The word ‘texture’ derives from late Middle English, originally denoting a woven fabric or something resembling it. It comes from the Latin word textura, meaning ‘weaving’, which in turn comes from the verb texere, meaning ‘to weave’.
Perhaps it’s this concept of ‘weaving’ that resonates with me—the idea that everything in life and nature is interwoven. The quality created by the combination of different elements in a work (and in life) fosters discovery, intrigue, and wonder.
Texture is truly wonder-filled.
Sharing a few close-ups images.
#studio #texture #weave #soul #finding #things #art #joy #discover #nature #life #wonder #mixedmedia #africa
In between lots of daily disruptions that have had me re-arranging, re-organizing and re-routing my time, maintaining any real routine and momentum has been a challenge. And now, with an imminent move into our new home, I’ve begun to pack and prepare.
What could have been an entirely frustrating period in this temporary, transitional space has instead, still with it’s challenges, been restorative, productive and fruitful.
Mother Teresa’s inspirational quote, “Doing small things with great love” perfectly captures the essence of this process for me. Creating postcard-sized pieces for my “Picture Postcards From Africa” collection brings me immense joy. Each small work has been made with great love.
I currently have one hundred and sixty postcards in various stages of completion.
Here are some close-up images showing the texture on a few of the cards.
Recently, Pat and I were invited to celebrate a friend’s 50th. It was deeply meaningful to be included in her special guest-list as we’re still relatively new to this community. I had a glorious time making up the gift with wildflowers and grasses from River Goose that happened to be drying in a simple white ceramic jug in my kitchen; and we had a fabulous time celebrating with her.
Then, a few weeks back, I was invited to a friend’s tea-party to celebrate her birthday. I popped a card of a recent landscape work into a frame; wrapped it in brown paper; wrote a card; bound it all with a single thread of twine repurposed from the spinach I’d bought earlier that day; and added a single twig of lavender from my garden pot.
I got to think about the joy of coming-together to celebrate. Perhaps we (I) don’t do it enough anymore. I mean in the simple way of things; simply getting together and being in-person. Being present. Even for ‘ordinary’ birthdays or occasions. Post-Covid, much still seems to require effort and energy we seem not to have in abundance. Possibly too, we’ve forgotten that we can do things in simple ways without much fanfare, and that there’s good-energy to be gotten from engaging ordinarily in real-peoples-space.
This work also from the new series I’ve been working on (where homes on hills across textured landscape fade to the distance as birds fly in the foreground). My mother commented on the previous post of the first work in this series that it’s perhaps about SOLITUDE and FREEDOM. That’s it. Solitude (in the positive sense of the concept) and Freedom, that we all want, always.
Thank you Art.Bellville for exhibiting this little work of mine. It was a joy to make and to send off from my home here in KwaZulu-Natal ACROSS HILLS to the beautiful Cape.
This piece is from a new series I’ve been working on where homes on hills across textured landscape fade to the distance as birds fly in the foreground. I don’t know the full extent of all its meaning to me just yet, but I’m loving the response from the few people who have seen them in my studio ... so I’ll just keep at it.
Living in new places, and meeting and engaging in new conversations brings new responses, perspectives and insights. Sometimes our approach to things can also shift. I’m working a little more in acrylic and finding a shift in colour and as well, am enjoying a more abstract approach, where even ships suddenly appear to be sailing across my canvas.
When after living in the same community for nearly thirty years, raising children and running a home, settling in a new place can present unexpected challenges and unanticipated dynamics. It can take time to find a momentum, a rhythm, routine and new friendships. Wonderfully new things can be discovered in the process, that bring about different perspectives and outcomes, even in art-making. Meeting with a new friend weekly at The Corner Store has been one such delightful ‘new thing’ where we discuss big and small things and exchange ideas around art-making. I’ve began to experiment a bit with acrylics, collage and in new apps on my iPad. I don’t know where it’s all going but trust that the ‘signs’ along the way will direct me. It can be uncomfortable and even frustrating at times, but also exciting and deeply gratifying when I’m pleased with the results.
“When the wind blows, the grass bends.” - Confucius
Although there are other interpretations to this quote, for me it represents being flexible in situations that you can’t control. We’ve had unusually strong winds and continuous rain for weeks. I can’t control this. I’m also currently still in small temporary space. As much physically and practically speaking, I’ve had to receive the refinement of emotional flexibility; bending as grass does on a windy day, whilst still being rooted in what feeds me.
I’d become especially attached to this work where I’d even hung it up in our temporary home space. So much personal meaning in it for me, including the beauty in even-humble-homes. I thought twice about sending it off on exhibit.
My sister-in-law Cheryl travelled with me to deliver the consignment of works to the gallery and as well loved this work; making it all the harder to let go of. But. Even in that. The gift of her enjoying and appreciating the work meant, means, a great deal to me.
The Gallery manager shared that the buyer was “delighted and excited” and so …. well …. so will I be. So am I.
The growth and refinement, mostly of continuous ‘letting-go’ is ongoing.
Thank you The Gallery, at The Studios, Ballito Lifestyle Center for the sale of this work.
Nandi’s Place - sold … I’m trusting, to someone who loves Spaza-shops or stores, as much as I do 🤍🤍🤍 as there truly is something so wonderfully delightful about them. Each so unique in character and personality. Local, communal, and offering ‘just what is needed’, where the owners seem to know ‘everyone’s name’ and their stories, and their place in the community. Nothing chain-store(y) about these places. They’re super special I think.
The name Nandi is of African origin and means ‘sweet’. It originates from Queen Nandi, Shaka Zulu’s mother”
Driving along highways looking across fields, I sometimes zoom in with my camera to a distant copse of trees and try to imagine what it must be like there; shaded and still, with mulchy soft underground … surely it would be calm, safe and peaceful where the breath of being is enough.
These were hard to send off on exhibit, but as always I trust that the new owner will enjoy them as much as I enjoyed discovering and creating them. I say ‘discovering’ for the multiple layers of process my mixed media works go through before being declared finished. Each layer built up or sanded down reveals more of what could be. The ‘creating’ bit happens when the story starts to take shape; in this case with little clay huts and homes (themselves weathered and almost returned back to the earth); and then the inclusion of an old nail, wire and small birds attached, referencing the connection to the earth’s magnetic force that guides and directs migration; and as well symbolic of the wire taken from the earth to fence our lands, to contain or to protect.
Homes on Distant Hills, are what I often saw from horseback on long outrides into the surrounding countryside as a child growing up. Nowadays, I see these little homes when driving by car.
Powerlines continue to find their way into my oil paintings and mixed media work; their significance both in the acknowledgment of our need for electricity, but with some sadness for the continual claim of the earth. I’m so pleased for the sale of this work at the exhibition titled ‘Humanity’ at the lovely Gallery, in Ballito.
The ArtCard included in this collection is ‘obvious to those who know me’ … for the joy remembered of riding out country on horseback, over textures of the earth beneath; amongst and through grassy fields of open plains; with the spirit in the air embracing a steady trot along winding paths.
The little clay homes have been formed from many photographs of unique huts, houses and homes that are seen dotted about the South African landscape.
