This painting isn’t so much about my fertility as it is about my question of it. It sits in that strange, quiet space between assumptions and reality—where some imagine deep longing or distress in the waiting, and others assume disinterest. Neither is entirely wrong, nor entirely right.

There is a part of me that would welcome it, because I know it would be good, refining, sanctifying. It would answer a desire in my husband; I know I would treasure the blessing and gift of a child. But there is also peace in the possibility that it may never come to pass—and so far, it hasn’t.

I envisioned this piece long before I knew its name. It came together slowly—a floral dress, a chartreuse sofa, an out-of-focus and half-empty fruit bowl, colourful textiles, and an abundance of plants. These are more than compositional choices; they are deeply personal symbols that hold space for questions I can’t fully answer.

This work reflects a moment suspended between hope and acceptance—neither resolved nor in turmoil. It’s not abstract in technique, but it is honest in its rendering.

This is where I am, rendered as I am