Every painting has a story.
Usually, that story begins in my studio and continues when the painting finds a home. Occasionally, however, the story takes an unexpected turn.
Recently, a collector purchased one of my paintings through my website. The piece, Realizations, was a 24” x 24” painting from my Effervescence collection, filled with colourful dots created through a process that combines poured paint, gravity, timing, and a little bit of unpredictability.
When I went to retrieve the painting from storage, I discovered something heartbreaking.
At some point, it had been improperly stored. A piece of corrugated cardboard had been pressed against the surface under the weight of other paintings. The distinctive zigzag pattern of the cardboard had become permanently embedded in the paint.
My heart sank.
As artists, we spend countless hours creating our work, and I take great pride in ensuring that every painting leaves my studio in excellent condition. I knew immediately that I couldn’t send the painting as it was.
The next step was the difficult one: contacting the collector.
I explained what had happened and sent photographs of the damage. I expected disappointment. Perhaps even frustration.
Instead, I was met with kindness.
Not only was Chan understanding, but when I offered to create a new painting for him, he seemed genuinely excited by the idea. What could have been an unfortunate experience quickly became something much more positive.
I decided to paint a new version inspired by Realizations. This presented its own challenge.
People sometimes assume that artists can simply reproduce a painting whenever they wish. In reality, that isn’t always possible. The paintings in my Effervescence collection are created through a process that depends on many variables: the consistency of the paint mixtures, the way the paint moves across the surface, drying times, temperature, humidity, and gravity itself.
I can create something inspired by an earlier work, but I cannot create an exact duplicate.
As I worked, I shared progress photos with Chan. In return, he shared glimpses of his family’s life. I learned about his young daughter, her love of drawing, and her excitement about becoming a big sister. I saw one of her colourful drawings and was delighted by her instinctive use of colour.
Then came the news that their baby boy had arrived.
Somewhere along the way, this stopped feeling like a replacement painting.
It became a painting connected to a particular moment in a family’s life.
When I finally sent Chan a photograph of the finished piece, he wrote something that stayed with me:
“To have such a joyful piece added to our home right when we have welcomed our new baby boy will mean I always associate it with this moment in our life.”
Those words reminded me that art often becomes part of our personal histories. Paintings witness milestones. They hang quietly on our walls while life unfolds around them. Years later, we look at them and remember who we were, where we lived, and what was happening in our lives when they arrived.
The original painting was called Realizations.
This new painting needed its own identity.
Inspired by the arrival of a new child, the love between siblings, and the sense that joy had somehow expanded throughout this entire experience, I titled it More Love Than Before.
What began as a damaged painting became something unexpected: a reminder that even disappointing moments can open the door to meaningful connections.
Sometimes things don’t go according to plan.
Sometimes they become something better.