Working on details

Lately, I’ve been looking around more and more during my walks in Tiel, where I live. Especially the places near the riverside are attractive to me. There’s something calming about the Dutch countryside—the open fields, the old fences marking boundaries that have stood for decades. I find myself stopping to sketch these simple scenes: wooden posts, barbed wire catching the afternoon light, grass growing wild at the base.

Last weekend, I spent some time painting one particular fence. The afternoon was quiet, and I took some photos of the fence to work from. It reminded me of those moments in Paris this summer, sitting at a café with my paints out for the first time. But now it feels less scary—more natural.

What I’m discovering is that these simple subjects—a gate, a fence post—aren’t simple at all when you really look at them. The wood has cracks and texture. The wire creates delicate lines against the sky. And the grass… oh, the grass is never just one color. It’s a whole conversation of yellows and greens.

The fence studies might look simple to someone else, but for me, they’re everything right now. They’re teaching me to slow down, to really see, to trust my instincts. Some days my hand is confident and the paint flows easily. Other days I’m tentative, second-guessing every brushstroke. Both kinds of days are valuable.

And there’s something meditative about returning to the same subject—fences, posts, grass—over and over. It’s not about getting bored with the subject; it’s about seeing how much deeper you can go each time.