£1,800 / $2,350
40 × 40 cm · Oil on Belgian linen · Unframed
In late winter the snowdrops come up in the churchyard in our village, in the grass between the old gravestones, where the names have worn soft and the carving has gone green with lichen. They're always the first flowers I see each year, small and white against all that grey stone, and they stop me every time. Something about them coming back in a place kept for remembering brings light into the most sombre corner of the village.
Over five weeks at the easel I kept coming back to the green heart of the snowdrop, where the petals part and the white turns almost to light, because that small green mark is where the sacred opens in this painting. I took the acanthus from a headstone in a neighbouring churchyard and painted it in the quiet colour of the ground, so it rises softly out of the stone and leaves the single stem as the only living thing in the frame. The petals were glazed one thin layer at a time until the white seemed to hold its own light.
On your wall it holds that doorway open for you to step through whenever your heart longs for stillness, and each February it reminds you that the light finds its way back.
It arrives with a certificate documenting how it was made, care notes and a personal letter about what I was reaching for. If you'd like to see it in person, my studio door is open.
The details
Dimensions: 40 × 40 × 2.5 cm unframed (approx. 15.7 × 15.7 × 1 in)
Medium: Oil on museum-grade Belgian linen, prepared with an exceptionally fine Italian ground and hand-stretched over bespoke wooden stretchers.
Framing: Sold unframed. Framing to my specification is available for UK buyers on request.
Shipping: Delivery is arranged personally for every original, fully insured from my studio to your door. Enquire and I'll give you the details for your location.
£1,800 / $2,350
40 × 40 cm · Oil on Belgian linen · Unframed
In late winter the snowdrops come up in the churchyard in our village, in the grass between the old gravestones, where the names have worn soft and the carving has gone green with lichen. They're always the first flowers I see each year, small and white against all that grey stone, and they stop me every time. Something about them coming back in a place kept for remembering brings light into the most sombre corner of the village.
Over five weeks at the easel I kept coming back to the green heart of the snowdrop, where the petals part and the white turns almost to light, because that small green mark is where the sacred opens in this painting. I took the acanthus from a headstone in a neighbouring churchyard and painted it in the quiet colour of the ground, so it rises softly out of the stone and leaves the single stem as the only living thing in the frame. The petals were glazed one thin layer at a time until the white seemed to hold its own light.
On your wall it holds that doorway open for you to step through whenever your heart longs for stillness, and each February it reminds you that the light finds its way back.
It arrives with a certificate documenting how it was made, care notes and a personal letter about what I was reaching for. If you'd like to see it in person, my studio door is open.
The details
Dimensions: 40 × 40 × 2.5 cm unframed (approx. 15.7 × 15.7 × 1 in)
Medium: Oil on museum-grade Belgian linen, prepared with an exceptionally fine Italian ground and hand-stretched over bespoke wooden stretchers.
Framing: Sold unframed. Framing to my specification is available for UK buyers on request.
Shipping: Delivery is arranged personally for every original, fully insured from my studio to your door. Enquire and I'll give you the details for your location.
