Two of my earlier paintings, “Special Guest” and “Surprise”, have been in my private collection since 2009. They are the 2nd and 3rd artworks in my journey to reach 100 paintings. Both are now on display for purchase at Boyd-Dunlop Gallery in Napier.
2 Special Guest Oil on canvas: 96 x 109 cm; 37.7 x 42.9 in
3 surprise Oil on canvas: 96 x 120 cm; 37.4 x 47.2 in
Surprise is a painting that holds its breath. Everything in it feels paused—caught between intention and consequence—like the moment just before a confession or just after one. The room is quiet but not empty; it is full of signals. Light, objects, and memory all lean toward a single question: Has something begun here, or has something ended?
The first thing that strikes the viewer is the dramatic wedge of sunlight cutting across the wall and shelf, turning the ordinary into something theatrical. That light is not soft; it is sharp and purposeful, like a spotlight. It falls directly onto the small red ring box, transforming it into the painting’s emotional centre. The box is open, its interior pale and expectant, holding a ring that glints with tiny certainty. The red is intense and urgent, but it is surrounded by deep greens and muted blues—colours that feel cooler, heavier, and more private. This contrast heightens the tension: love as an announcement placed against a backdrop of hesitation.
Beneath the light, the yellow roses sit in a lush cluster, their colour richly saturated—more golden than pastel, like late-afternoon honey. Yellow roses often carry meanings that hover between joy and uncertainty: friendship, warmth, remembrance, even jealousy, depending on context. Here, they lean toward a complicated optimism. Their fullness suggests effort; someone brought them recently, carefully, perhaps hoping to soften what was about to be said. Yet they do not feel celebratory. Their petals glow, but their placement—close to the ring box, almost crowding it—creates a sense of emotional weight. The roses, bright as they are, seem to press against the silence rather than lift it.
Above them hangs a framed photograph of a couple: a man close behind a woman, both in white. But the woman is turning away from him—her profile angled aside, her gaze missing whatever he might be offering. The man’s posture suggests closeness, protection, maybe devotion, yet the image preserves a distance that cannot be closed. It is not a romantic face-to-face portrait. It is a captured moment of withdrawal. In the context of the ring below, that turning away becomes symbolic, like a warning preserved on the wall. It suggests that this proposal—this “surprise”—may not be welcome, or may be too late.
The painting’s greatest power comes from its question: the ring. Is it waiting to be picked up, or has it been abandoned? The open box implies expectation, as though someone has stepped away briefly—perhaps to call her into the room, perhaps to kneel, perhaps to try again. But the emptiness around it—no hands, no movement, no human presence—also implies aftermath. The ring box sits too calmly, too deliberately, like an artifact left behind. It could be an offering never accepted, a gesture set out with hope and now forgotten, or a proposal interrupted by doubt.
In Surprise, romance becomes something fragile and uncertain. The roses shine, the light insists, but the photograph tells another truth: sometimes love turns away. The ring remains in the open box, caught between promise and abandonment, asking the viewer to finish the story.
