The Art I Want to See in the World

I think about this a lot. Not just what kind of art I want to make, but what kind of art I want to see. The kind I’d pause for. The kind I’d quietly carry with me after leaving a room.

It’s not necessarily what’s trending or what sells well. It’s not the biggest, brightest thing in the gallery. The art I want to see doesn’t shout. It doesn’t demand. It doesn’t try to impress.

It breathes. It lingers. It listens back.

Work That Feels Human

More than anything, I want to see work that feels human. That sounds like such a simple thing, but it’s surprisingly rare. I want to see the hand in it—the hesitation, the confidence, the vulnerability. I want to see the parts where someone changed their mind halfway through. Where the layers tell a story of uncertainty or courage or softness.

I used to draw a lot of eyes. Over and over. Something about that repetition grounded me. It was meditative. It gave me a place to start from, a way to understand expression without the weight of a full portrait. But over time, I started to want more.

More connection. More openness. More story.

That’s when I found myself turning towards painting people—not in a grand, historical sense, but quietly. Honestly. A face caught in thought. A gesture paused mid-movement. Something fleeting, made permanent. That’s the kind of art I now want to create—and the kind I long to see.

A Response to the Noise

We’re surrounded by noise. The kind you scroll through endlessly. The kind that tells you more is better, faster is better, cleaner is better. But better for what?

The art I want to see is a response to that. A soft refusal. It says: slow down. Sit with this. You don’t need to understand it right away. Let it live in you a little longer.

There’s something radical about that kind of quiet now. About work that takes its time, that doesn’t follow a trend, that isn’t trying to keep up. I want to see art that prioritises presence over performance.

And that’s what I try to do in my own work—build something with space around it. Something you can feel your way into. Something that listens as much as it speaks.

Not Just Decoration

There’s a difference between art that looks good and art that feels good. I’m not interested in creating something purely decorative. I want to make work that feels like it means something—even if I can’t always say exactly what.

I think the art I want to see is rooted. Not necessarily serious or heavy, but grounded in something real. Whether that’s joy or loss or tenderness or ambiguity, it has to come from a place that matters.

There’s room in the world for beauty, of course. But beauty, to me, is richer when it’s carrying something—when it’s not just surface.

Art That Feels Like a Conversation

The art I’m most moved by feels like a quiet conversation. It doesn’t tell me what to think or feel. It simply offers something, and trusts me to meet it halfway.

That’s what I try to offer in my own paintings—something open-ended. A doorway, not a destination. I don’t want to give people answers. I want to give them a feeling. Something that stays.

And I think the world could use more of that. Not just in art, but in general. More space to feel. To be uncertain. To reflect. To connect.

Why I Keep Painting

Sometimes I wonder what it’s all for. There’s always that question in the background: why make anything at all? Especially now, when everything feels so uncertain, and attention is so fragmented.

But then I remember: I want to contribute to a quieter kind of world. One where art doesn’t have to scream to be heard. Where it can just be—gentle, strange, imperfect, thoughtful—and still matter.

That’s the kind of art I want to see. So that’s the kind I try to make.

If you’d like to learn more about my creative process or see my latest work, feel free to reach out or check out the rest of my website.

.M.

Be real.

Make art.