After Mum passed away last year, I stopped painting. I just didn’t feel like it. I’d cry or I’d make some excuse at needing to keep the studio clean.

Then, around mid-April, I started to paint again but with watercolours, yet I still wasn’t in it wholeheartedly. A very dear friend from Canada commissioned me to do a painting for her and I started painting again. When alone in the studio, I’d weep, get angry that Mum was taken away too soon, and do a shoddy job.

This has been going on for a few weeks now but since last week, I decided to finish off the projects I’d started on. Half-painted and abandoned, the canvases were just collecting dust.

One of my lovely students was in class and she had quite a bit of paint left over in her palette. She insisted I start off my painting that had been standing on the easel for months and I did. I haven’t stopped painting since then. I churn out at least one painting a day, even if it’s a quick watercolour painting, and in the process I’m reminded yet again that indulging in art is the most therapeutic thing for me to do.

I don’t paint to compete with anyone or to show anyone whether I’m doing it well or not. I’m not a trained artist. I just paint because it brings me peace and happiness.

This month is just a week old, but I must say that the work I’ve done this week was painted with love and not anger.

I miss you, Mum. 💞