An ambitious title, I know.
I couldn’t think of anything better to describe the works on paper series I’ve spent the past few months creating. Reimagining the Sea feels slightly grandiose for a collection of simple, pared-back paintings, but at their core these works are exactly that — an attempt to distil what the coast feels like rather than what it looks like.
What surprises me most is how long I’ve spent with them. I hadn’t intended to linger here for months, but there is something in their quietness that I’m finding deeply soothing. Their simplicity asks something different of me — patience, restraint, stillness. In a way, they feel like the visual equivalent of standing by the sea on a calm day, watching movement happen slowly.
Ironically, they don’t begin calmly at all.
Every painting starts with mess.
And I mean real mess: layers of colour, scribbles, scraped-back paint, random marks, experiments that may or may not work. It is one of my favourite stages of painting because there is no pressure to make something “good”. It’s playful, instinctive and gloriously untidy. A chance to stop thinking and simply respond.
For me, this stage feels a little like freedom — switching off the internal critic and just seeing what happens.
Soon I had stacks of paper covered in chaotic colour and unruly marks. The process became strangely addictive. Instead of worrying about composition or meaning, I was simply enjoying the act of making.
Eventually though, I felt the need to do something with all these messy beginnings.
That’s when the paintings began to shift.
Large blocks of colour emerged as a counterbalance to the chaos — soft shapes interrupting energetic marks, quiet spaces interrupting noise. I found myself reducing rather than adding, covering over rather than embellishing.
The palette became more restrained too: pale sea greens, chalky whites, soft blues, darker interruptions that hint at depth or movement. Colours chosen less for drama and more for atmosphere
I think what I’m really trying to recreate is spaciousness — that emotional exhale I experience when I’m near the sea. The sense that things stretch out, slow down and soften around the edges.
These paintings are not intended to be visual representations of waves, cliffs or horizons. They are emotional landscapes.
A memory of salt air.
The feeling of standing still.
The comfort of space.
The quiet rhythm of water.
Sometimes they feel like fragments of coastline remembered rather than observed.
Sometimes they feel like nothing at all except calm.
And perhaps that’s enough.
The truth is, I’m still not entirely sure where this series is heading, and for now I’m comfortable with that uncertainty. Not every body of work arrives with a clear destination. Sometimes the joy lies in following an instinct and seeing where it leads.
Right now, I’m simply enjoying the process of creating.
100 Day Project Update
In my last blog, I mentioned that I’d been taking part in the 100 Day Project and, having just passed week twelve, I’m firmly on the final stretch — which, if I’m honest, comes with equal parts relief and determination.
My motivation has definitely dried up.
I remember this happening the last time I completed one of these challenges. Motivation dipped around a third of the way through, then unexpectedly returned in a second wind before fading again near the finish line, when the process began to feel more like a chore than a creative adventure.
I had hoped it might feel different this time, but apparently not. Thankfully, there are less than two weeks left.
That said, I wouldn’t want this honesty to put anyone off trying something similar. Challenges like this can be genuinely transformative. Even when enthusiasm disappears for a while, the long-term impact can be huge.
For me, the goal was simple: to establish a regular creative practice again after months of stop-start painting. And it worked.
Showing up consistently has rebuilt momentum in a way I hadn’t quite realised I needed.
I’m also looking forward to what comes next — particularly playing around with the finished squares once the project ends. I’ve already repurposed a few to create pieces for a charity secret postcard sale, and I suspect this project will continue to ripple into other work long after day one hundred is over.