In A Spot of Tea, time collapses into ritual. This painting captures not just objects — teapots, pitchers, vessels — but the quiet gravity of moments suspended between sips. The forms are abstract but unmistakably familiar, floating like memory imprints across a layered, timeworn surface. These aren't pristine, polished items. They’re vessels of history — chipped, cherished, and reused through generations.
There’s a story in each shape: a mismatched pot passed down from a grandmother, a ceramic jug with a crack that never leaked, a stout kettle that once whistled louder than any voice in the room. They gather here not just for function, but as witnesses to conversation, silence, gossip, grief, love — the full range of human warmth that unfolds over something as simple as tea.
The earthy browns and muted turquoises speak to the blend of nature and nurture, water and leaf, tradition and improvisation. Fragmented patterns and ghost-like overlays suggest layers of storytelling — as if the tablecloth itself remembered every tale ever told at the table.
And though the forms seem to hover in space, they do not float aimlessly. They orbit a center that isn't visible but felt — the gathering. The act of coming together. The shared pause in the day.
Because at its core, A Spot of Tea is not about the tea at all.
It’s about the space it creates — where time slows, presence deepens, and we remember, for just a moment, how to simply be with one another.