House and home

I keep staring at this potential artwork. What is its story, what does it want to say? Whimsical mixed media village with textured rooftops, misty background, and vibrant geometric patterns, evoking community and connection.

It's the most fascinating process ever. First put paint or scribbles or collage material down. No idea what next. I keep staring at this potential artwork. What is its story, what does it want to say? As I choose colours that feel right, I lay it down in the canvas led by my eyes and my heart.

As I stare some more, I suddenly see a potential image. I go for it, suddenly passionate and excited. Oops, don't forget the elements and principles of art now Trudie. Is the focal point clear, do the elements work together? As I'm working my heart is actively involved. Sometimes I get the message and the story early on in my process. Sometimes I'm in tears afterwards as I realise that I have made visible my thoughts, feelings, fears, dreams and challenges. This latest work started as a scribble and became a mist covered village. The houses are wonky, there is no straight line to be found anywhere. Yet, it has colours and textures if hope.

This one caught me by surprise. My kids and granddaughter have all left the country and are living and working in the Netherlands. I miss them more than I can express. I realised that my question if the definition and meaning of home and community has been upended. It's just me and my husband now. I mourn the losses, celebrate their victories but am not sure where I belong. Can this funny little village become our new patchwork home? Should I look to the colours and textures as hope giving for our future? Theoretically, I have the answers. In my heart though, the battle is still not over.

This piece has been raw and deeply personal for me. It’s not just a whimsical village with misty rooftops and vibrant patterns. It’s a reflection of my heart in transition, of a place that once felt like home but has changed shape, just like the wonky, playful houses I’ve painted. The lack of straight lines mirrors my own feelings of uncertainty and the unexpected twists life has thrown my way.

The mist feels like a veil—both a fog of uncertainty and a blanket of comfort. It covers and softens the hard lines, symbolizing the haze I feel as I navigate this new chapter. The vibrant geometric patterns and textured rooftops are glimpses of hope, small bursts of color and texture that speak of resilience and of a future I’m still stitching together with each brushstroke.

This village might not look like the home I once knew, but maybe that’s the point. It’s a new patchwork home, a blend of old memories and new possibilities, stitched together with the love I still hold. The process of creating it—scribbling first, intuitively following the colors that call to me—feels like I’m feeling my way through this season of life without a clear map, trusting my heart to guide me.

My heart is on the canvas. The colors and textures are my way of both mourning the empty spaces and celebrating the joys that have filled them before. It’s a visual diary of my grief and my hope, the longing for the way things were and the tentative excitement for what might come next. This piece is asking the question, Can I redefine home when the people who made it home have left? It doesn’t demand an answer. It just holds the space for the question, leaving room for both the sadness and the unexpected beauty in what’s to come.

Maybe it’s saying that home is not a place—it’s the love I’ve built, the memories I’ve shared, and the hope I’m still clinging to. Even if the shapes are uncertain and the colors are unexpected, it’s still a part of me, a map of my heart that’s been reshaped but still beats strong. It’s a love letter to what was, a prayer for what could be, and a quiet, whimsical acceptance of what is.