June — Joy
Joy does not always arrive when life is easy.
It can appear unexpectedly.
In the middle of an ordinary afternoon.
In a moment that belongs to nobody else.
When something makes you laugh and you forget, briefly, everything waiting to be done.
It does not ask whether the timing is right.
It simply arrives.
Joy is often postponed.
Until the work is finished.
Until everyone else is settled.
Until there is more time, more certainty, fewer things to think about.
As though pleasure is something to be earned.
Something that comes afterwards.
But afterwards has a habit of moving.
And a life can become very full of things that must be done before the things that make it worth living.
Joy is not the same as happiness.
Happiness is often imagined as a condition.
A life in which everything has fallen into place.
Joy can be much less reasonable.
It can exist alongside uncertainty.
Alongside responsibility.
Alongside things that are difficult, unfinished or entirely beyond our control.
It does not require a perfect set of circumstances.
Nor does it need to last forever to matter.
The Pleasure of Being Here
This work is an exploration of that feeling.
A woman's silhouette moves through a world of luminous pink, turquoise and blue.
Her hair streams behind her.
Circles of colour expand around her, while floating spheres and a single bright star suggest a world without the usual boundaries.
There is movement.
Light.
An almost weightless sense of possibility.
Nothing in the image asks her to stop.
There is no destination.
No finish line.
Nothing to prove.
For once, the experience itself is enough.
Joy does not have to be productive.
It does not need to teach you anything.
Improve you.
Make you more interesting.
Or become another thing you are expected to do well.
It can be extravagant.
Silly.
Quiet.
Entirely personal.
It might be colour.
Music.
Dancing badly.
A beautiful object.
A place you have never been.
Or doing absolutely nothing for an afternoon.
What matters is not whether anybody else understands.
Only that you do.
After Autonomy
Permission allowed the beginning.
Desire made room for wanting.
Voice allowed it to be spoken.
Visibility allowed it to be seen.
Autonomy made it possible to choose.
Joy is not another achievement in that sequence.
It is what becomes possible when the choices begin to belong to you.
When pleasure is no longer something to explain away.
When wanting something simply because it makes you happy feels like reason enough.
Joy does not mean forgetting what has been difficult.
Nor does it require pretending that everything is wonderful.
It is simply the recognition that difficulty does not have to occupy every available space.
There can still be delight.
Still be curiosity.
Still be moments of ridiculous, unexpected pleasure.
And there is no need to apologise for any of them.
An Invitation
What brings you joy when nobody else is watching?
Not what you think you should enjoy.
Not what looks impressive.
Not what makes you useful to somebody else.
What makes you feel lighter?
What do you find yourself returning to, simply because you love it?
What have you been saving for a more appropriate moment?
And what might change if you allowed yourself a little more of it now?
If you'd like to live with this piece, it is available as a limited-edition art print.
More about the project —