When life gives you lemons

paint them

May 20, 2026

Hello Friends,

Last week a heavy box arrived in the post from Japan. Inside it I found freshly printed copies of a catalogue collating all the activities of last year’s artist residency programme at Aomori Contemporary Art Centre, which if you’ve been reading The Life Boat for a while you’ll know I took part in last November.

Leafing through the catalogue’s pages brought back the intense experience of those few weeks and the wonderful people I lived and worked alongside during that time.

Residencies are often a bonding experience, where friendships are formed in shared studios, accommodation, meals, and long hours of work, but in this case the distance and cost of travel is such that it seems unlikely I will see my fellow artists again. So, saying goodbye to everyone when I left in early December was particularly bittersweet.

Tucked into the top of the box I found a little envelope. Inside it was a black and white photographic print of myself and Tomo Setou, the ACAC curator who helped me so much during my stay, standing side by side in front of snow-drenched pine trees.

Tomo’s boxy little Japanese car, loaded with all my luggage, is just out of shot. I had just said goodbye to everyone and dragged my bags up the footpath to the car park on a sledge I’d found. Despite the heavy snow, Tomo and I were about to get in the car and head to the airport for my flight to Tokyo and then home. Kai, who had helped me tow the loaded sled over the rutted snow, asked us to pause while he peered down into the viewfinder of his medium format camera and recorded the moment of leavetaking.

A proper darkroom print, the picture came with a friendly hand-written note from Kai. He’d been transfixed by pictures I’d shown him of Orkney’s coastal cliffs and sea horizons, and they had planted a seed of longing in him to come and see them for himself one day. He’s a resourceful and determined fellow, so I take his cheery ‘see you again!’ note at his word. I hope he will make it here, one day. He will be very welcome.

In the meantime, I have the photograph, now pinned to my studio wall, to remind me of those times in Aomori. When I look at it I can remember the bite of cold air, the creak of fresh snow underfoot, my mix of sadness to be leaving and gladness to be going home, the goodbye hugs and waving off. You can’t do that with a WhatsApp message.

My postcard of ‘Recollect’, 1973, Winifred Nicholson, Tate collection

Pinned next to this image of deep winter there is a paint-spotted postcard I must have picked up on a visit to the Tate in London early this year. It’s of a painting by Winifred Nicholson that represents a different season; a simple scene of a few jars of Spring flowers, forsythia or broom perhaps, and some lemons, on a windowsill with a view towards open hills and sky beyond. Icy blues, peachy greys and palest mauve dissolve into a whiteness in which the zingy yellows sing out like sunshine itself.

I turn over the card and see the painting is called ‘Recollect’, dated 1973. I wonder who and what Winifred was recollecting, beyond the dazzle of sunlight and punchy yellow of the flowers and fruit. She was living in Cumbria at the time, so the outlook is probably of the hills visible from her house at Banks Head, a view she painted often.

Born in 1893 Winifred must have had much to recollect by 1973, but this painting doesn’t seem to speak of regret or nostalgia. I like to keep it near me because it seems to me a painting of joy, of light, and of hopefulness. Keeping the postcard in my sight acts as a daily reminder to take pleasure in simple, everyday moments.

I see this painting as a prompt to a different kind of recollection. It reminds me to re-collect my self, gather up my distractedness and worry, and offer due attention to the texture of everyday life, to the particular quality of morning light raking across the table top, to the colour of a lemon in the fruit bowl, to the light that lingers now, every day a little longer, in the evening sky.

I’ve been deep in a big painting of my own these last few weeks. At over 3 metres wide, (close to 11 feet) it’s a bit of a behemoth and it progresses slowly. But I think it’s finally starting to turn a corner. Looking again at Nicholson’s chalky pastel colours, I can see how that little postcard has been quietly influencing me.

Above, May 18th, below May 19th. A full day’s studio graft between them and I suspect only I could spot the difference! Talk about slow going…

There’s still a long way to go, but I think it’s beginning to show me what it might want to become.

That’s if my brush doesn’t wear out first.

Join the Life Raft Creative Co-Working Session

Come and join me while I paint more wiggly lines! You are welcome our creative co-working session every Wednesday from 3 pm to 4.30 pm UK time. It’s very simple. We say hello, share what we’ll be working on, then leave our cameras on and work together in quiet companionship for an hour, then sign off with a quick check-in chat. That’s it! If you miss a session or can’t make it live, a recording is usually made available to paid subscribers - though I forgot last week! You can find them in the subscriber chat HERE.