I painted this piece as a love letter to the unseen.
Nestled in the center—almost swallowed by bloom and brilliance—is the female cardinal. She’s modest in palette, gentle in presence. She doesn’t clamor for your gaze like her scarlet male counterpart might. But look again. It’s her muted strength, her steadying softness, that completes the whole thing. She anchors it.
This work is, at its heart, a salute to mothers. Not the idealized, airbrushed version—but the true ones. The ones who show up without applause, who hold the whole thing together in the background. Women who bring warmth to cold days, who see what needs doing and do it—again and again—without needing the spotlight.
The composition is deliberate. The chaos and color of the world pressing in. And in the center? Stillness. Resilience. Her.
I didn’t want her to be the loudest thing in the painting. I wanted her to be the most essential. That’s what so many mothers and females are, really—subtle but central. Underestimated, maybe. But never replaceable.
This isn’t a painting about spectacle. It’s a painting about presence. The kind that lights up not just a room—but a weary heart.
