En route suggests movement without arrival, a moment suspended between where we have been and where we are going. It is a phrase that carries optimism and uncertainty in equal measure. In this painting, the journey has already begun. The tin seaplane sits lightly on the water, floats barely disturbing the surface, its propeller poised, its clockwork heart wound and ready. Nothing dramatic is happening, yet everything is implied.
The aeroplane is a JEP Jouets de Paris toy from 1935, a time when aviation still felt miraculous. Built from tin, powered by clockwork, it represents an era when flight was mechanical, audible, and full of ritual. You wound the key, placed the plane carefully, and stepped back. There was no guarantee how it would travel, only faith that it would. That faith is central to En Route. The toy is not airborne, nor docked. It is between states, committed to motion.
The red of the fuselage is confident and deliberate. It sits against the green and yellow water like a declaration. Colour does the heavy lifting here, establishing mood before story. The water reflects and absorbs, carrying the red outward in softened echoes. Light pools beneath the plane, as if the journey itself illuminates the path ahead. This is not realism; it is emotional accuracy. The water is calm, receptive, waiting.
In the foreground, lotus flowers float quietly. They introduce patience and time, their slow growth contrasting with the promise of speed and flight. The lotus is rooted in stillness, yet it rises above the surface. Like the plane, it exists between elements. Water below, air above. This shared condition links the natural and the mechanical, reminding us that progress and reflection are not opposites but companions.
A single fish glides beneath the surface, almost unnoticed. It reinforces the idea that multiple journeys are happening at once, unseen and uninterrupted. Life continues regardless of our own sense of purpose. The plane may feel central to the scene, but it is only one traveller among many.
The pilot is small, contained within the tin shell. There is no visible face, no expression to read. This anonymity allows the viewer to step in. En Route becomes personal. We all recognise this moment: prepared, committed, but not yet tested. The destination is irrelevant. What matters is the decision to move.
There is no urgency here. The clockwork motor will run its course, as all mechanisms do, but for now, the plane rests in possibility. The painting honours that pause. It suggests that the journey itself holds meaning, even before it truly begins.
En Route is not about where we are going. It is about the quiet confidence of setting off, the belief that movement alone is enough.
44 En-route
Oil on fine portrait linen: 95 x 125 cm; 37.4 x 49.21 in (Sold)
