Mist

Mist began with a memory of Alaska and the deep blue of the ocean. I've always been drawn to the quiet tranquility of those waters—an endless blue that invites reflection. Rather than paint a specific place, I wanted to capture the feeling it left behind.

As the painting evolved, I found myself exploring the many layers of that tranquility. The subtle shifts of green, aqua, and white became just as important as the blue itself, suggesting that peace is rarely a single, unchanging state. There are different levels to tranquility, each with its own depth and quiet presence.

The greatest surprise was the mist. It wasn't part of my original intention, yet it gradually became the heart of the painting. Beneath it, the water remained calm while the surface held movement. It reminded me that air and water are two distinct forces, constantly influencing one another. Together they can create turmoil, or they can create balance. In Mist, they found harmony.

As I painted, I realized I was navigating much the same place in my own life. I was emerging from a season of profound change—feeling safe, yet unsettled. I often found myself looking back, wondering how I had arrived where I was, while quietly asking what the universe still had in store for me. The painting became a reflection of that moment: finding peace without yet knowing what lay beyond the horizon.

Mist has always fascinated me because it both conceals and reveals. It softens the boundary between what is visible and what is only sensed, much like memory itself. It makes me think of places I've been, people I've loved, and moments that continue to shape who I am. I hope it invites others to pause, reflect on their own journey, and perhaps rediscover a little of their own magic. To me, that is where the mystery—and the beauty—of life begins.