Hampstead Heath was the first place I knew when I arrived in London. For years I kept coming back without really meaning to. The city kept returning me to the same spot.
I’ve crossed the bridge between the two ponds hundreds of times. And every single time, the reflection of the houses in the water stopped me. Still water acting as a mirror. The houses floating upside down. That particular stillness that Hampstead Heath does better than anywhere else in London.
That’s what I needed to paint.
That day it started raining while I was working. The oil held its ground.
If you know this place, really know it, you’ll recognise exactly what I was looking at. That corner of London that feels like it belongs to you even when it’s full of strangers. The pond on a grey morning. The houses sitting quietly in the background like they’ve always been there.
This is one of my last oil paintings. I’m moving to watercolour for good. When this one goes, that chapter closes.
100 x 70 cm. Oil on canvas. Signed.
