Morning light spills into the studio as I step inside, coffee in hand. The first moments of the day are quiet and deliberate: I check my emails, review plans, and let the caffeine kick in. It’s a slow start, setting the tone for the hours ahead.
Today, I’m immersed in the story of Elli Kruithof. Her life—a mix of mid-century interior design and a later shift to theology—offers so many threads to pull at. I’m piecing together her family tree, carefully reading letters her only living brother sent me. It’s a puzzle, each detail helping me decide how her story might translate onto canvas. What moments deserve a large, commanding piece? What works better as something smaller, more intimate?
By mid-morning, the studio stirs with activity. The art supply shop delivers canvases—a fresh batch ready to carry Kruithof’s life in paint. At 10, a collector stops by to pick up a piece he commissioned, adding a quick burst of conversation to the day. After he leaves, I turn back to my work, prepping the background for a new painting. These early layers are a quiet, meditative part of the process—laying the foundation for what’s to come.
Later, I meet with another artist. Over tea, we exchange ideas about running a creative business. The topic of frames comes up. I’ve been making mine by hand, which I enjoy, but it’s time-consuming. We talk about tools, and now I’m researching small saw machines that could make the process easier.
By the time I finish, it’s too late to start painting. Another appointment waits, and I have to leave soon. The studio feels poised, ready for tomorrow, when Kruithof’s story will continue to unfold. For now, the canvases rest, primed and waiting for the next step.