Me (at secondary school): Dad, I want to study art.

Dad (who went to art school): No. Study something else and, if art is important enough to you, one day you’ll come back to it.

Me (43 years later): Ok, I’m ready.

I can’t believe that it took me so long to rediscover and truly embrace my love of art. But I made it. And I’m so glad I did, because painting has offered me a new way to live. These days, little things seem important: noticing, stopping to look, creating. And capturing simple moments in oils has brought more joy and peace than I could have imagined.

I’m drawn to the mundane. I like taking the quietest moments of the day and magnifying them. It might look like just another table set for lunch, but it’s more fun to imagine the conversation to come, words and laughter floating above the table, maybe even the clink of glasses raised in celebration. That same attention to small moments is what pulls me toward a flower that’s past its best, not the flower itself, but the wistful feeling of time slipping through my fingers. My art forms a visual diary of these easy-to-overlook moments, inviting viewers to pause and find joy in the fleeting nature of everyday life.

I'm also drawn to places that feel as if they already belong to me, even ones I've never actually stood in. It might be a doorway, a stretch of coastline, a scene half-remembered from somewhere I can't quite place. I've always been fascinated by that pull, the way imagination can settle into something that feels almost like memory. In this way, the pieces I create are the breadcrumbs of my meanderings through life, some real, some imagined, but all felt and all a part of me. And I hope that you have fun looking at these paintings to see if there’s a hidden part of yourself in there, too.

Germaine

P.S. I have the best studio assistants.