Over a year ago, I started working on two new paintings: Low Sun 01 and Low Sun 02.
The idea arose after a wonderful trip to Mallorca, an island that still inspires me. For two weeks, we enjoyed the rugged landscape, the clear blue sea and the warm Mediterranean light. We often watched the sunset together with our son, then only two years old. Sometimes from the beach, sometimes high in the mountains, but always with a view of the sea.
Those moments lingered. Especially the moment after the golden hour, when the blue hour begins. The sun has just set below the horizon. The sky is a cool blue, the sea reflects that light, and in between glow warm tones of orange, pink and earthy hues from the mountains. I tried to commit those layered colors to memory and even brought a small jar of beach sand back home with me.
Started full of energy, but got stuck
Back in my studio in Apeldoorn, I began full of energy.
First, the underlayers with Mallorcan sand, then the first layers of paint. Everything felt right, until suddenly it didn't. As enthusiastic as I had started, I didn't know how to continue. I lacked direction. The two canvases disappeared to the side of the studio, where they remained for months.
Meanwhile, my work changed. My style became calmer, more personal, more balanced. There was room for silence, for detail, for material. And when I moved to my new studio, the Low Sun works reappeared. They stood there in a new light and suddenly I knew exactly what they needed.
The foundation remained the same: the sand from Mallorca, the memory of the setting sun. But the approach was different. The color planes became calmer, the transitions softer. A subtle color gradient runs in the background, the gradient of the sun slowly disappearing below the horizon. Over this lies a textured layer of paint, with cracks and traces that evoke time and transformation.
If you linger a moment, the work slowly unfolds. The colors emerge, just as on the beach, when you linger at the fading light.
Both works measure 110 × 90 cm, two moments from the same memory, each with its own unique rhythm.
Slow down to see again
What I've learned from this process is that sometimes, standing still is necessary. When you're stuck, it's good to slow down. To zoom out for a moment instead of forcing things. There's often a reason why something isn't working yet. In my case, my style had to change first, and so did my environment. Moving to my new studio brought peace and space. It allowed me to see everything clearly again and I knew exactly what needed to happen.
Sometimes something just needs to mature before it can emerge.
Would you like to see the works in real life?
You are very welcome to visit my studio in Apeldoorn.
Schedule an appointment through my website and experience the Low Sun series up close.