Study no. 52

I painted this study with the intention of staying honest—honest to the object, to the light, to the silence it carried when I first saw it. It’s just a cloth, really. Folded, maybe hung. A domestic thing. But when I began to observe it closely, I realized how much quiet complexity it held. The soft geometry of folds, the weight of its stillness, the way the stitched red lines interrupted the pale surface like subtle boundaries of use and care.

I didn’t want to dramatize it. I wanted it to feel as it felt when I looked at it: essential, unfussy, grounded. The texture of the paper was important to me—it echoed the coarseness of the fabric. I used minimal color, mostly pencil and just enough watercolor to suggest form, shadow, and presence. The shadows mattered a great deal. They aren’t just for depth—they’re part of the cloth’s truth, the way it hangs, the way it holds space.

I left a lot of white. It wasn’t out of indecision; it was intentional. The blankness around the fabric is light, breath, a pause. It lets the cloth speak for itself, unclouded. Realism, for me, isn’t about copying every detail—it’s about holding a moment faithfully. Not embellishing, just understanding.

The red stitching—slightly uneven—felt important. It gives the cloth identity. Maybe it’s handmade. Maybe it’s been in a kitchen drawer for years. That’s what I love: that in such a simple subject, there’s the possibility of a whole story, a history even, embedded in its worn edges.

This piece is about noticing. It’s about staying with something long enough to see past its function, to its quiet dignity. That’s the realism I’m drawn to—not photographic, but intimate. A realism of patience and presence.

Study no. 52/ Pencils and watercolor on paper/ 30 x 21 cm