Solitude presents an antique pond yacht paused in a moment of perfect stillness, resting within the glassy expanse of an infinity pool. Its white hull, trimmed with restrained green stripes, feels purposeful and elegant, a design born of patience and careful craftsmanship. The yacht is neither racing nor drifting; it is waiting. In that pause, the painting finds its quiet power.
At first glance, the scene is calm, almost deceptively so. The yacht sits lightly on the water, its reflection mirrored below, the boundary between object and image softened by gentle ripples. Yet the horizon tells a different story. Beyond the pool’s edge lies Rangitoto Island, its unmistakable silhouette stretching low and dark across the distance. This dormant volcanic island, rising from the Hauraki Gulf, has long been a constant presence for Aucklanders — solid, ancient, and immovable. Here, it serves as both an anchor and a warning. Heavy clouds gather above it, thick with promise and threat, hinting at an approaching storm that will soon disturb the stillness.
The contrast between foreground and background is deliberate. The pool water is rendered in layered tones of turquoise, teal, and deep blue, shifting subtly as light dances across its surface. The water feels inviting, almost unreal in its clarity, a constructed paradise that holds chaos at bay for just a little longer. Reflections shimmer and blur, amplifying the sense of suspension, as though time itself has slowed. This carefully controlled environment stands in opposition to the sky beyond, where nature remains untamed and unpredictable.
At the centre of it all, the pond yacht becomes a stand-in for the solitary figure. Its sails glow with warmth, catching the last of the light before the storm arrives. Though motionless, they suggest readiness rather than rest. This is not abandonment, but intention. The yacht was made to move, to respond to wind and current, yet here it chooses stillness. In that choice lies resilience. Solitude is not presented as isolation, but as a necessary pause — a space where strength is gathered before the next change.
Scale plays an important role in the composition. The yacht is small against the vastness of sky and island, yet it does not feel insignificant. Instead, it asserts its presence through clarity of form and placement. Like the pond yachts once sailed across public parks and quiet waters, it speaks to a slower rhythm, a time when attention and patience mattered. The looming storm reminds us that uncertainty is always present, but it does not diminish the value of this moment of calm.
Solitude invites contemplation without instruction. It asks the viewer to sit with the tension between serenity and disruption, to recognise that both coexist. The storm will come, as storms always do, but for now the water is still, the yacht is ready, and solitude becomes not an absence, but a form of quiet strength.
Solitude, Oil on Linen 95 cm x 125 cm
