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Some paintings happen fast. Others take time—a lot of time.
Drifting Still is one of those pieces that needed space. Pauses. Time to breathe. I stepped back more than I painted, sitting with it, letting it tell me where it needed to go. I didn’t want to rush it.
This painting is a return—not just to an image I’ve painted before, but to what first inspired me. To what still pulls me back in.
Then and Now – Revisiting Fade Away
This painting started with a screenshot. A 2015 Instagram post from Jesse J. of Whalebone Creative—back when Instagram looked completely different (who remembers that?). Something about that image stuck with me. The quiet movement, the subtle shifts in light. It felt like a moment of transition.
A year later, I painted Fade Away, a 24x30 inch oil on canvas—one of my earliest seascapes. That painting found a home long ago, but I never stopped thinking about it.
Now, almost a decade later, I’ve returned to it with Drifting Still. A larger canvas, a different palette, a deeper understanding of softness and stillness in motion. It feels both familiar and new, like picking up a conversation that never really ended.
And while Fade Away was one of my first ocean paintings, it still resonates. It’s why it remains one of my top-selling prints—a reminder that some paintings never stop speaking.
And while Fade Away was one of my earliest ocean paintings, it’s one that still resonates. The movement, the emotion behind it—it’s why it’s one of my top-selling prints. It’s interesting to see how something created years ago can still connect so strongly, both to me and to others.
A Painting That Took Its Time
I started Drifting Still at the end of last year, working on it slowly between other pieces like Between Here and Now and The Mini Collection. I didn’t want to rush this one. So I didn’t. I had hoped to finish it before leaving, but it wasn’t ready yet. And that was okay.
Because coming back to it after time away meant I could see it differently. I could tweak what needed tweaking, soften what needed softening. Like Between Here and Now, I wanted to say more with less—to strip things back, let subtlety do the work.
I worked on it every day after getting home. Even strained a muscle, which forced me to take a day off (which I hated), but I listened to my body.
Coming back to a painting after time away is always a little intimidating. Will I see it the same way? Will I overwork it? Will I fuck it up?
But fresh eyes help. I worked slower, kept distractions to a minimum (shoutout to Do Not Disturb mode), and just let myself be with it. No rushing, no forcing—just letting the painting unfold.
Softness in Stillness
There’s movement in this piece, but it’s soft, quiet. The shifts in light, the subtle tonal changes—this time, I leaned into restraint. I worked with a limited palette again, mostly Payne’s Grey and Titanium White, building slowly from dark to light, uncovering details like an excavation.
Maybe that’s why this painting felt like meditation—quiet, intentional, a slow revealing of something beneath the surface.
Painting is always a solo experience for me, but this one felt even more private. I blocked myself in, kept the curtains up, tuned out the world. Maybe that’s why I feel so connected to it—because it came from such an internal place.
What I’ve Learned, 9 Years Later
Coming back to Fade Away and painting Drifting Still wasn’t just about revisiting an old idea. It was about seeing how I’ve grown—what’s changed, what hasn’t.
I’ve learned to take my time.
To trust the process.
To let the painting breathe.
To embrace the softness.
And maybe most of all, to keep returning to what moves me.
Take Drifting Still Home
If this piece speaks to you, you can view it here and bring a sense of stillness and movement into your space.
And if you’ve always been drawn to Fade Away, the print is available—one of my top sellers and proof that some paintings never stop speaking.