Still Here — From Ocean Breath to Canvas

Still Here

I’ve never made a painting this quiet before.

Most of my work begins with energy — movement, pressure, fracture, force. My Power & Resilience series, especially, has spoken in the language of geology and momentum. But this painting arrived differently. It didn’t push. It didn’t demand. It appeared.

It began in the water.

I went snorkeling, and something shifted. When you float face down in the ocean, the world changes. Sound falls away. Vision softens. Time slows. All you hear is your own breath — steady, rhythmic, grounding. In that moment, you’re not observing nature. You’re inside it.

That feeling stayed with me.

Back in the studio, I didn’t try to paint the ocean. I tried to paint that state of being — suspended, aware, present. Instead of building the surface, I let it emerge. Layer by layer, the work became less about marks and more about space. Less about action and more about existence.

It felt different from anything I’ve made before. Quieter. Slower. Truer.

There’s a moment in painting when you realize the work is no longer something you’re making. It’s something you’re listening to. This piece asked for restraint. It asked me to stop sooner than I normally would. It asked me to trust stillness.

So I did.

The result is Still Here.

Not dramatic.
Not loud.
Just present.

Resilience revealed not as force, but as presence.
It’s moving. It’s enduring. It’s being.

This painting reminded me that strength isn’t always visible. Sometimes it’s simply what remains — steady and undeniable — whether witnessed or not.

And maybe that’s what the ocean was telling me all along.