Westminster Bridge. Six in the evening. The sky had gone pink and the wet pavement was picking up every colour around it, teal, orange, the warm glow of Big Ben.
There were people on the bridge. There always are. But somehow it felt quiet.
I’ve lived in London since 2018. I stopped seeing the postcard years ago. You know how it is, you walk past these places every day and they become invisible.
But that evening the light did something unusual. The kind of light that only lasts a few minutes before it’s gone forever.
I didn’t want to paint the tourist version. No red buses, no crowds, no clichés. I wanted to paint what Westminster looks like when London is actually yours. When you’re not visiting. When you just live here and happen to catch it at exactly the right moment.
That’s what this is.
Not a postcard. A memory of a city that belongs to the people who actually live in it.
31 x 41 cm. Watercolour on Arches paper.
