Beacons: Finding Light When the World Feels Heavy

Beacons: Finding Light When the World Feels Heavy

Lately, I have found it harder to paint. Not because the ideas are missing, but because the world feels like it is spinning in so many directions at once: conflict, uncertainty, grief, noise. It is strange how global events can seep into the studio and settle into the quiet corners where creativity usually feels free. I have sat in front of blank surfaces feeling a heaviness I could not quite name, wondering how to make something honest without being overwhelmed by everything happening around me.

Painting has sometimes felt indulgent, or even futile. What difference can a mark, a colour, a tiny image make in the middle of so much chaos?
And yet, somewhere underneath all of that, the pull to create never truly disappeared. It grew quieter, but it never went out.

That is where the Beacons began.

One evening, while walking, I saw a single warm light shining in a window across the fields. It was small, almost insignificant compared to the darkness around it, but it stayed with me. This idea of a glow holding its own in uncertainty felt powerful. It reminded me of humanity, steadiness and connection, even at a distance.

I began thinking about the history of beacons. They once signalled danger across the British landscape and were used to call people to arms. Now they have become symbols of unity and hope. That shift felt meaningful to me. These lights are no longer warnings. They are quiet reminders that we are still here and still connected.

Back in the studio, I started making tiny studies. Postcard-sized landscapes with the faintest fleck of light. Small, quiet, almost hesitant at first. But there was something grounding in their simplicity. These little glimmers became anchors for me: gentle reminders that even when the world feels overwhelming, a spark can still exist. A spark can still matter.

The Beacon collection grew from that place. It grew from trying to hold onto hope in dark moments and from trusting that creativity, even in its smallest form, can offer comfort and connection.

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