One of the things I love most about being an artist is that I never really know where a painting is going to lead me.
For years I’ve worked primarily with abstraction. Colour, movement and rhythm have always been enough to tell the story. This new painting surprised me because it asked for something different.
It began with an idea that simply made me smile.
What if Tulip and Iris were guests at a dinner party?
Not just sitting nearby, hoping for scraps, but fully participating. Party hats and all.
From there the painting grew into something much larger than I expected.
The table became covered with a red checkered tablecloth. Fruit appeared on a large platter beside a bottle of red wine and a filled glass. There was fish, asparagus with butter melting over it, potatoes, lemon, salt and pepper. Each dog had a treat waiting in front of them, and Tulip casually rested her paw on hers, as though claiming it before anyone else could.
The room kept filling with little stories.
A vase overflowed with colourful flowers, including an iris and a few yellow tulips tucked among the more abstract blooms. Behind them hangs another abstract painting, almost like a quiet reminder of where I came from.
Then there is the coffee.
On the windowsill sits a mug with a “D” on it. A rubber ball has just collided with it, sending the coffee spilling over the edge. It’s the kind of split-second moment that could easily go unnoticed, but once you see it, you can’t stop looking.
Perhaps my favourite part of making this painting was allowing perspective to become flexible. We seem to be looking down onto the table, but other elements refuse to obey those same rules. Chairs sit at different angles. Objects lean into one another. Space becomes playful instead of logical.
I wasn’t interested in creating a realistic dining room.
I wanted to create the feeling of remembering one.
Our memories rarely organize themselves according to perfect perspective. They gather together as impressions, emotions and fragments. We remember what mattered, not necessarily where everything stood.
Although this painting contains many recognizable objects, I don’t think it’s really about any of them.
It’s about abundance.
It’s about the personalities of two dogs who happily become the centre of attention.
It’s about the unexpected moments that make a gathering memorable.
It’s about the little details that invite us to pause, smile, and perhaps invent our own stories about what happened just before—or what might happen next.
As artists, we often become known for doing one particular thing. Sometimes it’s easy to stay there because it’s comfortable.
Every now and then, though, curiosity wins.
This painting reminded me that exploring something new doesn’t mean leaving behind what came before. It simply means allowing another part of your imagination to have a voice.
I’m looking forward to seeing where that voice leads next.
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