At the center of this painting floats a llaüt, the traditional Mallorcan fishing boat that has long felt like a symbol of home. I grew up visiting Spain, where my mother was born, and where this quiet vessel often appeared on the horizon of my childhood memories. I first painted this scene on a smaller canvas, drawn in by the stillness of water at dawn, the way light gently settles into reflection. But I soon felt the need to return to it on a grander scale—to let the moment open up and breathe.
In this larger version, the brushstrokes became more deliberate, more confident. I leaned into gesture and atmosphere, letting the paint carry the story. My grandfather, a renowned Spanish painter, taught me to see the world through light and color. He introduced me to the work of Joaquín Sorolla, the great Valencian master of sunlit water and Mediterranean radiance. His influence lives in every inch of this canvas. Sorolla’s spirit taught me that light is not just something you depict—it is something you feel, something you let move through your hand.
This painting is a meditation on memory and inheritance. It is about a particular kind of silence that exists only at sea, and the way art can hold the presence of those who came before you. In painting this, I felt not just the stillness of water, but the stillness of being deeply connected to a place, to a lineage, and to the quiet language of light.