For two months or so, I have been consumed with an underwater world.
A bustling eco-system of colour, vibrance and texture. 
There is something transformative about the ocean, a concept that has crept into my work as an artist time and time again. It heals and calms. No matter the whirlwind of circumstances surrounding me, I always come back to myself on the shore.
Years of low motivation and high overwhelm have meant very little in the way of productivity. I know, I know! It's the process that counts and not the destination; but as an artist and creative who also happens to be a classic A-type Enneagram 1, it is important that I feel like I have achieved something at the end of a day, or a week, or a month.
Through the troughs of a creative slump, one habit I have managed to keep on top of is gathering reference material. I have savoured hour upon hour scouring the shorelines of my favourite KZN beaches, peering into the rock pools at the mesmerising worlds hidden below the surface. I have gathered, thought, collected. This is a practice I have always pursued, mostly unknowingly and long before I saw any of the scenes as paintings. I don't need to remind myself, I simply wander off and hours seem to pass in a minute. 
The thought process that naturally results from this practice does not necessarily result in anything tangible on paper, but rather, banks in my mind as a memory of place - the 'genius loci' or visceral character of place.
All alone but for the waves and the Oyster Catchers.
With a lifetime of this place's spirit stored in my mind, an initial sketch, unwittingly aimed at reducing a scene to its purest marks, turned into a body of work that I haven't yet found the words to describe. 18 paintings that quite literally make me teary. They hold pieces of my childhood, my becoming, my strengths and weaknesses. I shudder to imagine packaging and sending them off to new owners; a feeling only offset by the joy I know they will bring.
This is the heart of an artist. Always exposed for the world to see.
It took me around 6 weeks to complete the pieces in this collection which may seem really quick. I suppose, in a certain sense, it is. But in another sense, it takes a lifetime to create a painting. A quantity of hours, days, weeks, years is not a true representation. It's the failed attempts, the stored memories, the years of thought processes and contemplation, pushing through the droughts, let alone the practical learning and training. All of these must come together to create the magic where beauty happens.
Finally, the stars aligned, the inspiration struck and it happened. A painting that captured the feeling I had intended. Peering into Pools was born and it couldn't be stopped. In fact, I had to force myself to stop painting as there were about another 20 references I could've carried on with. What an absolute blessing!
And so, in these final few weeks with my paintings, I will take the time to photograph them, contemplate them, look at them, think about them before I send them off into the world.
There is certainly much to be done in this time - catalogue designing, stationery, packaging, website updates, writing copy, framing. It's enough to keep me sufficiently distracted from the nerves that invariably build up as a launch date draws closer.
My greatest hope is that the true intention and feeling behind my paintings is felt by those who see them. If they speak to you or pull on a heart string - I would love to know.
Ps. As a side note - can we just take a moment to giggle (and cringe) at the fact that I swore I was starting a blog only to look back and note that I have a total of two posts since starting 18 months ago. Also, I predicted it would look more like fumbling than forging, and I was 100% correct.