Art, Gratitude, and Quiet Devotion

There are moments in art, and in life, that ask for very little but attention. Not grand gestures or dramatic statements, ust a pause. A kneeling figure holding the sun for a second before it slips away again. Those quiet in-between moments where something is felt, are often where meaning lives for me.

Holding the Sun, Not Grasping It

One recent painting began with a simple idea: a lone figure kneeling and holding the sun. Not triumphantly, not casually, but in a deliberate, reverent way. As if acknowledging that whatever this sun represents, be it hope, energy, meaning, isn’t something to be possessed, just held for a time.

The background came naturally, stage-like and sparse. Two forms rise behind the figure, possibly hills, possibly spirits. They aren’t explained, and they don’t need to be. I like when images feel more like a small personal myth than an attempt at realism. The stillness is the point.

In some ways, this painting became about how easily we miss the sacred in the everyday. The quiet ritual of rising, of reaching, of pausing. The fact that a simple act, done with care, can be a form of devotion.

Four Small Gestures of Thanks

Another recent piece, this one also made for a space in Crete, was composed of four small paintings. Each one explores a simple act, with simple figures, expressing quiet gratitude.

• A figure offers a gesture to the moon, a kind of prayer.
• Another holds a fish aloft, a gift from the sea.
• A bird rests in the hand, symbolising myth, migration, or seed-carrying wisdom.
• And an offering of fruit or harvest, gently held up to the light.

What they share is a kind of spiritual humility. A recognition that life, when it slows, is full of these small moments of awe. That giving and receiving are part of the same rhythm. That a fish, a moon, or a bird can be enough.

Spirituality Without Drama

I’m not religious in any traditional sense, but I do believe in the sacred.

Not in the sense of rules or rituals, but in that sense of inner stillness, of connection. The feeling when a breeze shifts a curtain, or when someone hands you a bowl of food and doesn’t say anything.

Or when the sea touches your ankles and you forget what you were worrying about. That’s the space these works come from.

A kind of everyday spirituality, where painting becomes a way of being present, to remember small joys, and to offer thanks.

The Art of Gratitude

In the world we live in, gratitude can feel like a soft thing, almost naïve. But I think it’s quietly radical. It resists the narrative that more is always better. It says: this is enough. This fish, this fruit, this moment.

Painting these works reminded me that we don’t always need to look for deep symbolism. Sometimes, just offering a shape, a colour, a gesture is enough. Sometimes, the simplest art is the most honest.

Final Thoughts

I hope these pieces feel like a soft space for the viewer, a space to rest and reflect. To remember that beauty often hides in simplicity. That spirituality can arrive without warning. And that gratitude, expressed in gesture or pigment or silence, is a powerful thing.

Thank you for looking.

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