Why This Sunset Landscape Might Just Be What Your Soul Ordered
🌅 The Dream
Here’s the thing: I’ve never actually been to the place in Drifting into Dusk. I didn’t sit on that beach or glide through that water. And yet, painting it felt like going home to somewhere I’ve never physically been—but have somehow carried with me for years.
Maybe you’ve felt that too? That ache for a quiet place that probably doesn’t even exist. A place where the sun doesn’t set so much as it lingers, stretching out the day in this warm, golden way that makes you feel like everything might be okay.
That’s what I wanted this painting to hold. Peace, reflection, and just a little bit of that “take me there” magic.
🖌️ How It All Started
Honestly? It started with a brush full of tangerine paint and zero clue where I was going. That’s usually how my paintings begin—kind of like how I joined the Army at 17 because a recruiter called for my brother and I answered the phone. (True story.)
I didn’t plan to become a landscape painter. Or a painter at all. This all started much later in life—after marriage, kids, grandbabies, and a career in, well… life. And somehow, through all that, I found my way to color. To canvas. To trying to capture a feeling most people don’t have words for.
🌴 What This Painting Means (To Me, At Least)
Drifting into Dusk is a love letter to stillness. Not the empty kind—more the kind that fills you up. It’s about reflection. About the soft edges of the day giving way to night without asking for anything in return.
There’s a canoe, yes. There are palm trees. But more than that, there’s this quiet mood, like the world took a breath and then held it for just a moment longer than usual.
A collector once told me this piece made her “feel like she was remembering a dream that never really happened.” That’s probably the best description I’ve ever heard.
🌊 Why People Love Landscape Art (Even If They Don’t Know It)
I think we’re all a little hungry for escape. Real life is loud. Art gives us somewhere to go that doesn’t ask for directions or Wi-Fi.
Landscapes, especially ones that feel like dusk and warmth and long-forgotten places, offer that. They let your mind drift. (Hence the title. I was feeling poetic.)
Collectors often tell me that pieces like this give them a moment of peace in the middle of their very busy lives —and I take that as the highest compliment.
🧠 My Process (AKA Hope and a Lot of Wipes)
There’s not much of a formula. I start with a feeling, a color, sometimes a vague mental postcard of a place I’ve never been. Then I layer. And wipe. And sometimes fuss a little. And then, suddenly, something clicks.
With this one, it was the reflection on the water. I stared at it for hours before deciding it was finally right. I wanted it to shimmer, but gently. Like light that’s not trying to impress you.
🛍️ Thinking of Taking It Home?
Drifting into Dusk is currently available, and I’d be honored if it found its way to someone who needs that little window into calm.
→ Buy the Painting
✨ Comes signed, packaged with care, and yes—a handwritten note from me. Because real connections still matter.
🌈 A Look Ahead: Breaking Free
If you’re more into portraits and expressive color, stay tuned. I’m working on a new series called Breaking Free. It’s about the journey to self-acceptance—and finally showing up as your full, unfiltered self. It’s bold. A little raw. Very me.
Want first dibs when it drops? → Join the Collector's Circle
Thank You (Yes, You)
If you made it this far, I just want to say thank you. For being curious. For taking a minute to be still and look. Art may not change the world, but it can shift the moment you’re in. And sometimes, that’s enough.
—Ronda
