June no longer felt like spring, but like summer. And it got me thinking: are the seasons still predictable? It's obvious it gets hot in summer, but are spring and autumn getting shorter? In any case, I'm trying to make the most of it.
Every morning, I walk a similar route through the park. Every morning, it's different. I'm obsessed with water lilies and gentians at the moment, and I check daily on the coots — watching them transform from tiny, scruffy grey balls into bigger, bolder birds that tumble about amongst the flowers. There's something deeply meditative about this ritual. The same path, the same birds, but always something new to notice.
A while ago, I saw a tiny sketchbook at an exhibition by artist Jeroen Krabbe — a travel journal he created with his father during a road trip. It was the most beautiful thing there. I’m going on a trip with my family, and I want to create something like that together with my daughter. A shared journal filled with what caught our eye, things we did, and beautiful moments captured in drawings and colour.
It’s my birthday month too (I’m quietly celebrating with my nose in a sketchbook and a brush in hand, as you do), which always feels strange because I’m an autumn and winter person by heart.
I'm reading three books that are shifting how I see things:
Art for All: Impressionistes by Bernd Growe - has me rethinking how light moves through paint. The Impressionists were obsessed with capturing fleeting moments, and I'm realizing that's what my morning walks are teaching me — everything is temporary, so pay attention.
Life in The Garden by Penelope Lively - is part memoir, part meditation on how gardens change us. It's making me think about the space between observation and creation.
Mrs Merian and the Wonders of the World by Ruth Kornberger - is about an artist who traveled the world documenting insects and plants. A woman creating beauty and science at once — such an inspiring story
In four beautiful sessions, we painted tropical birds, seashells, peonies, and summer meadows. Teaching those four summer workshops taught me as much as the participants. Each one reminded me to slow down, to really look at what I’m painting. And somewhere between the seashell workshop and now, I realised: I really like to draw small, seemingly “unimportant’ things.
This July, I’m pausing the workshop schedule to fully embrace summer (and that trip with my family), but members still have access to the full archive to explore and play with.The work that people shared from the workshops was amazing! I loved all the different approaches and signature brush strokes. You can see a selection of them here (and add yours to it if you’d like to share):
Other posts to catch up on:
Notice how summer moves. The sway of a meadow. The flutter of wings. The way water ripples around a lily pad. This month, try capturing not what something looks like, but how it moves — the rhythm, the dance, the poetry hidden in motion.
This month, I’ve been collecting flowers I want to paint:
Hollyhocks — those large, papery, open-faced blooms
Creeping bellflower — I think this might be my new favourite
Dog rose — when fully open, they look like they’re batting beautiful eyelashes
Ragwort — so many tiny yellow flowers, turning entire patches golden
Orange hawkweed — the happiest orange you’ve ever seen
I sketch them when I'm back from my walks, quick observations in a small notebook. Not masterpieces, just ideas. Just noticing.
If you’re in the Netherlands, I’m teaching seasonal workshops in my studio this autumn. You’ll get to see my workspace and work alongside others as we explore seasonal themes. Details here:
Here’s to summer sunshine, morning walks, and allowing yourself the space to simply notice the world. The sketching, the art — it all flows from there.
What are you noticing this month? I’d genuinely love to hear.
Warmly,
P.S. If you’re looking for something to explore while I’m quietly painting by the sea, all our past workshops and inspiration posts are waiting in the archive.
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