Expect the unexpected.
That phrase followed me into the studio last week — not as a mantra, but as a quiet undercurrent. I thought I was going in to pause. To sit with the paintings that felt almost finished. To let them breathe. To listen.
Instead, I picked up the brush.
Not with intention, at first — just a need to respond. And suddenly I was reworking pieces I’d believed were done. Pushing them into unfamiliar territory. Letting them shift, evolve, unravel. What I’d thought was a moment of quiet observation became something far more active, more restless.
It took me by surprise — not just the impulse to keep working, but the clarity that followed. I realised the paintings I’d been holding as “the work” — the ones I thought belonged in She Who Carries Weather — might not be the ones after all.
They were the warm-up act.
That was mildly shocking to me. Especially as someone who, not so long ago, would have settled. Wouldn’t have questioned. Would’ve taken “good enough” and made peace with it.
But this body of work is asking for more.
It’s teaching me to be patient, to stay close to the changing weather — not just in the skies or on the land, but in myself. To trust that what felt finished yesterday might be the foundation for what’s really trying to come through today.
And that maybe the storm isn’t something to avoid.
Maybe it’s the signal you’re getting closer.