I’ve been asking myself a question for a very long time.
Why do I paint?
Not how I paint, not what I paint, not who I paint for. But WHY.
I’ve tried answering this question in different ways over the years and even recently in one of my previous blogs. Particularly when it comes to abstract art, there’s this expectation that there must be a meaning behind it. A story, an interpretation, a concept that helps people understand what they’re looking at.
I’ve tried coming up with those meanings. I’ve tried giving my collections a narrative that people could relate to.
But something never quite felt authentic enough.
And I think I’ve finally figured out why.
The answer was there all along. I just hadn’t quite found the words for it.
It started with Sam, my soul dog.
Sam walked into my life in March 2011, and I knew we had a story. Three years later, in 2014, Stella joined us. Sam wanted a sibling, quite literally, and who was I to deny him?
Sam n Stella became our little world. The name existed in different forms and versions long before it became an art studio. It was always about the three of us and the life we were building together.
Then came November 2022.
On November 18, Sam was diagnosed with lymphoma. His flight to Canada, where he was supposed to join me with Stella, was booked for November 28.
I was here, building a new life for all of us. He was in India, fighting for his life.
On the evening of November 24, he was gone.
Six days after his diagnosis. Four days before his scheduled flight.
I wasn’t there.
I didn’t get to say goodbye.
I’ve carried the guilt of those final days with me ever since. I still replay the decision not to fly home immediately after his diagnosis. I still wish I could go back and make a different choice.
Sam wasn’t just a dog to me. I had consciously chosen a child-free life, but he fulfilled every bit of motherhood I could have imagined. He was my family, my companion, my happiness and so much more.
Losing him changed me. I don’t think I’ll ever be quite the same person again.
And then there’s Stella.
I sometimes wonder if I talk about Sam so much that Stella gets a little overlooked in our story. Perhaps that’s what happens to second children!
But Stella has been every bit as important. She was Sam’s much-requested sibling, joined our family in 2014, and has been my anchor through everything that followed.
When I lost Sam, she was still here. We had each other. And in ways that I probably haven’t acknowledged enough, she helped me keep going.
She has her own place in this story, one that doesn’t need to be defined by the loss of her brother.
Sam and Stella were never just the names behind a studio. They are, my whole family.
Left is Stella, my golden girl and right my baby Sam.
Sending Love to Sam
My first collection, Sending Love to Sam, was created in his memory.
It was probably the most honest work I had ever made. I wasn’t trying to create something that would fit a market, tell a clever story or make sense to someone looking at it.
I was simply creating from a place I couldn’t explain.
And something unexpected happened. Out of all that grief came the most joyful abstract paintings. Colours, shapes, movement and energy that seemed to have a life of their own.
It almost felt like Sam was reminding me of something.
That he loved me. That he always would. And that I should be happy and keep spreading that happiness into the world.
I don’t know how to explain that experience without making it sound more mystical than it was. I just know what I felt.
And I knew I wanted to keep going.
So, why do I paint?
I think I’ve spent too much time trying to find a clever answer to this question.
The truth is that every collection I create carries Sam in it.
Not necessarily in the subject matter. Not in the form of dogs, paw prints or paintings dedicated to him. You won’t necessarily find an obvious reference to him when you look at my work.
But he’s there.
He’s in the joy, the warmth, the colours, the energy and the happiness I try to bring into every collection.
And if you’re a dog person, I suspect you’ll understand what I’m talking about.
You know that feeling when you walk through your front door and your dog greets you as though you’ve been away for ten years, even if you only went out to get the mail?
That ridiculous amount of happiness. That warmth. That unconditional love. That feeling of being someone’s entire world.
That’s the feeling.
I think that’s what I want my paintings to evoke, even if you don’t know why.
I guarantee that when you look at our work, you’ll smile.
And honestly, that’s all that matters to me.
A little piece of our story, in your home
Sam n Stella Studio has grown and changed over the years. And so has my art.
But the reason behind it has remained the same.
Every painting that has found a home through the studio has carried a little bit of the love that started this whole journey.
You may have bought a piece because you loved its colours. Maybe it was the perfect fit for your living room. Maybe it reminded you of something, or simply made you happy.
You don’t need to know the story behind it to enjoy it.
But I want to say thank you.
Thank you for welcoming my work into your homes. Thank you for supporting this little studio. Thank you for being part of something that began with two dogs who brought an immeasurable amount of love into my life.
You may have bought a painting for an entirely different reason, but every time one of my pieces finds a home, I feel like a little part of Sam’s love gets to travel somewhere new.
And that means more to me than I can ever properly explain.
And this is only the beginning.
No matter how confused I get about the business, the marketing, the collections, the audience or what comes next, one thing is certain.
My love for Sam and Stella is eternal. Whether anyone understands it or not, that’s simply how it is.
And I think this studio is just the beginning of where that love is headed.
We may be mortals, but art has a way of staying. It travels from one home to another, from one generation to the next, bringing joy to people who may never know the story behind it.
And if my paintings can bring even a fraction of the warmth, happiness and unconditional joy you experience when you walk through the door and are greeted by your best friend, then I think I’m doing something right.
And that’s why I paint.
