Over the past couple of weeks, David and I have begun settling into life in Italy.
We started with five wonderful days in Rome, letting ourselves wander and absorb the layers of history and daily life unfolding side by side. From there, we made our way to Palermo — vibrant, textured, and alive with conversation spilling from markets into the streets. I loved its energy. But after several full days, I felt something shift. I was craving quiet. Space to think. Space to work.
So we moved again — this time to a small seaside village near Cefalù.
For the month of March, we’re living in a villa tucked into citrus groves. Oranges, tangerines, and lemons hang heavily from the trees, so plentiful that many fall and scatter across the ground in bright yellow and orange. Cherry blossoms are blooming. Tiny figs are just beginning to form, though they won’t be ready for months. The olive trees, I’m told, will wait until November to bear fruit. Everything here unfolds in its own season.
The slower rhythm feels right. The house has a fenced yard, which gives the dogs freedom and gives us ease. At times, neighbourhood dogs call out to one another across the groves — a chorus that echoes between trees heavy with fruit. The sea is only a short walk away. We’ve started collecting flat, smooth stones along the shoreline. Perhaps we’ll make a mosaic from them. The idea is still taking shape.
Most importantly, I’ve unpacked my art supplies.
Alongside my usual pastels, coloured pencils, and watercolours, I brought something new: oil sticks. I’ve wanted to explore oil painting for years, and this felt like the right moment to begin. I packed canvas paper and made my first piece a few days ago. I’m hooked. I love the texture, the richness, and the way the paint remains open — how I can return to it days later, soften it with linseed oil, and continue moving colour across the surface.
There’s something deeply satisfying about working this way. It feels both new and familiar, like discovering a different dialect of a language I already speak.
In between small excursions and explorations of the surrounding villages, I’m here — noticing the light, the shoreline, the fallen citrus at my feet. Travel always sharpens my senses, but this slower stay is doing something more. It’s giving me space to experiment. To begin again.
You can follow along with my daily adventures over on my Instagram. I’ll share more as the days unfold.