The Ones That Stay

Some paintings find their people straight away. Others stay a little longer.

Over time, I’ve realised it’s not a bad thing when a piece hangs around the studio. It means it’s been part of more of the process — it’s watched new ideas come and go, sat quietly while the seasons outside the window shifted, been there through the messy middle stages of other work. Sometimes, it just means it’s waiting for the right wall, at the right time. Plus, they’re great company to me in the studio — reminders of what I’m able to do.

I used to feel sad when originals didn’t sell immediately, like it was the world telling me that my art was no good. It’s so easy to take it personally. You put so much of yourself into the process of painting — your heart and soul go into them — and when they don't find a home straight away, it can feel like you’re not a "good enough" artist.

The longer I create and run this small art business, the more I see it differently. Some pieces don't leave straight away — and that's OK. Some need time to settle, to wait for the right person to stumble across them at exactly the right moment. And when they do, it’s magic.

Art isn’t fast. Meaningful things don’t always adhere to a quick timeline. And value doesn’t come from speed. Now when I walk past a piece that’s been with me for a while, I don’t see failure. I see a piece that’s lived alongside me, been part of the pauses, the false starts, the tiny breakthroughs. I see a piece that’s still holding space — quietly, patiently — until it’s time.

A few originals are still here with me now. And when they find the right walls, it’ll be exactly when they’re meant to. Until then, they’re part of the story too. And that’s enough.