That Watercolour Life: Where Light and Life Return

I always notice the light before anything else. It lingers a little longer, softens at the edges, and changes how everything is seen.

It’s subtle, but it shifts everything. The same places feel different. Colours begin to return, quietly at first, and then there’s more to notice again. Flowers starting to wake. Small details becoming impossible to ignore.

This is the point where I find myself drawn back into the work in a different way—not with urgency, but with attention.

What I notice

I spend more time outside, usually walking through nearby parks, letting things reveal themselves slowly. A flower that wasn’t there last week. Light catching on a petal in a way that feels almost deliberate.

They’re easy moments to miss, but once you see them, they stay with you.

By the time I return to the studio, the work has already begun.

At this time of year, it’s the flowers that hold me most. Not just for their colour, but for their structure and the way they hold light. I’m less interested in arranging them, and more interested in observing them as they are.

That’s where it feels most honest.

Where the light holds.

A Way of Working

My setup stays simple. A small palette, brushes, a sketchbook. Watercolour doesn’t ask for much, but it does ask you to slow down.

You can guide it, but you can’t force it—and that feels especially true now. Things are unfolding outside in their own time, and the work tends to follow that.

Over time, I’ve realised this way of working doesn’t stay in the studio. It changes how you see things, and even how you live with them.

The pieces I create are not just about capturing something beautiful, but about holding onto a moment—of light, of change, of something just beginning.

An Invitation

And that’s something I’ve been thinking more about sharing.

In the coming weeks, I’ll be releasing a small number of spring and early summer workshops, shaped around this exact way of working. Time spent outside, observing and then bringing that into the studio in a way that feels natural and unforced.

They won’t be large, and they won’t be rushed.

If this way of seeing resonates with you, keep your eye out for the release—I think you’ll feel at home in them.

A moment

And for those who are drawn to collecting, this season’s work carries that same energy—flowers just beginning to open, light shifting, everything in transition.

If you feel that pull, it’s worth paying attention to.

It doesn’t last for long.

Things move quickly from here. The light changes again, the flowers move on, and the moment passes. The only way to really experience it is to notice it while it’s here.

That’s what I keep coming back to.

And from within this same space…

I’ve opened a small, intimate gathering — a few hours to sit with colour, tto paint, and to move more fully into this way of seeing.

Step inside — and find your place

— Burnell McKenna