43 Game of Patience

Patience is a quiet discipline. It does not announce itself or demand attention. It waits. In Game of Patience, everything rests in that pause between effort and outcome, the suspended moment when the ball has done almost all the work and yet nothing is decided.

The painting offers a simple scene: a golf ball balanced at the edge of the hole, its shadow stretching across the green. The flag is distant, barely noticeable, and the course rolls gently away into warm evening light. There are no players present. The clubs lean against a tree, abandoned or perhaps respectfully set aside. This is not a painting about action; it is about restraint. The swing has already happened. What remains is waiting.

Golf is often described as a game played against oneself. It rewards control, repetition and focus, but it also demands acceptance. No amount of desire can force the ball to drop. Gravity will decide in its own time, or not at all. In this painting, the ball sits precisely on that threshold. It could fall with the next breath of wind, or it could stubbornly hold its ground. The outcome is unknowable, and that uncertainty is the subject.

The green is rendered with care and texture, each blade of grass contributing to the tension of the moment. The light suggests late afternoon, when shadows lengthen and time seems to slow. This is the hour when patience is tested most, when fatigue sets in, and concentration must be maintained. The warm yellows and deep greens create a calm surface, but beneath it lies a quiet unease. The longer the ball waits, the more the moment stretches.

There is also humility here. The absence of the golfer removes ego from the scene. The painting does not celebrate triumph or failure, only the space in between. It reminds us that patience is not passive; it is an active choice to remain present without interference. To wait without rushing, without reaching in to force an ending.

In life, as in golf, many of the most important moments arrive after the work is done. We prepare, practise, and commit, but the final result often lies beyond our control. Careers, relationships, healing, and change all involve periods of waiting when nothing appears to be happening. Yet these moments are full. They shape us quietly, asking us to trust the process rather than the outcome.

The scale of the painting reinforces this idea. The hole is small, the ball smaller still, set within a wide, open landscape. The world continues regardless of whether the ball drops. Trees cast their shadows, the light shifts, and the course remains indifferent. Patience, the painting suggests, is not about winning. It is about learning to be comfortable in uncertainty.

Game of Patience captures that fragile pause where hope and doubt coexist. It is a reminder that sometimes the hardest part is not the effort, but the waiting. And that in those moments, there is a quiet beauty worth noticing.