A Place to Pause

“A Place to Pause” 11x14 oil 2026

The fog softens the distant trees, while autumn sunlight warms the clearing below. There is a path, but nothing in this scene seems to hurry me along. It is a place to linger, to breathe, and to set aside, for a little while, the responsibilities waiting for me.

Perhaps that is why I was drawn to a photograph my daughter-in-law took last fall, just down the road from where she lives. I felt weary under the weight of daily life and to-do lists that felt infinitely long. Yet this scene stirred a longing in me, not just to be there, but to discover the peace I sensed within it.

At the time, I was experiencing what I can only call “painter’s block,” as if I had completely forgotten how to paint. Picking up a pen comes easily, but painting demands more. I have to gather my materials, choose a canvas, sketch, consider composition and color, and then mix my oil paints and, in my case, put on a painter’s apron, because so much of the paint ends up there, as well as on my face and fingers. Go figure.

Still, something about that photograph drew me back to my studio and encouraged me to begin painting again. Holding a brush and watching the scene slowly take shape encouraged me to relax and exhale. I painted not to accomplish anything, but for the sheer pleasure it brought me.

When it felt finished, I did one of the hardest things I do: I signed it. Signing my name declares, “I am the artist, and it’s done.” And that isn’t easy for me. I tend to see things as unfinished, not perfect, which leaves me deflated and insecure about my ability. It feels safer to say “I’m still working on it,” leaving room for grace from others and from myself. (Hence the large stack of unsigned paintings!)

But something about this painting felt different. It seemed to offer a lesson that reached beyond the canvas. It's easy to be caught up in a productive mode, leaving little room for anything that doesn't serve a purpose or accomplish a task.

I needed to step away from my usual routine and my screens to do something simply for the joy of it: to paint, to rest, or to sit quietly without feeling guilty or having to justify leaving some things undone. I had forgotten that I am enough even when I haven’t accomplished anything.

This painting asks nothing of the viewer. It simply invites you to linger.  A path lies there, but it doesn’t urge you forward. It seems to say, “It’s okay to stay here.”

The trees aren’t bold or dramatic. They feel more like witnesses than actors. Nothing begs for attention or tries to impress. The scene exists, quietly, whether anyone notices or not.

It reminded me of the words, “Be still and know that I am God.” Not as a command to accomplish one more thing, but as a tender invitation to rest in His presence.  This painting creates a space where I can become still enough to notice Him.

Maybe I am not looking for an answer about what comes next, or clarity about what or who requires my attention, but the space and time to receive the rest God wants to give me. I needed space to stop striving to be “enough”.

As the fog begins to lift, the path remains. But I no longer feel compelled to follow it. For now, it is enough to pause, breathe, and receive the peace that has been waiting for me all along. At my age, I just wish there was a bench!