Yesterday, I was in the garden, looking across the river when something extraordinary appeared. In the field opposite, a soft, glowing white figure emerged from the muted greens and greys of the winter landscape. At first, I couldn’t quite believe it - its presence seemed almost too luminous, too perfect against the drizzle-soaked day.
It was a Little White Egret, a bird I had never seen before. Its feathers were pristine, their whiteness almost ethereal, framed by the grey sky as though the day itself had conspired to draw attention to this quiet marvel. For a few long moments, it stood there, meeting my gaze. Its calm, deliberate presence felt like a visitation - a fleeting connection, an affirmation that everything was actually going to be ok.
Later, I learned that the egret symbolises patience and healing. That seemed fitting, as it had carried with it a sense of stillness, a kind of distilled serenity that stayed with me long after it stepped away.
The moment reminded me of an ancient Chinese painting I once saw in a book, which I photocopied and stuck to my studio wall in London 30 years ago. White Heron on a Snowy Willow, attributed to the artist Sōami, and painted in the mid-15th Century!
The painting captures a similar stillness: a heron perched on a snow-covered branch, its delicate form suggested by the white of the paper itself. Surrounding it, the soft washes of ink dissolve into faint tones of brown and grey, creating a scene so understated it feels like a whisper.
I think of these moments as reminders of what lies beyond the surface - the spaces between things, the intangible connections that hold meaning and beauty.
In my own work, I often return to these ideas: the interplay of light and shadow, the simplicity that holds complexity. The egret, much like the heron in the painting, seemed to embody this - a fleeting glimpse of the profound in the everyday.