Finding Stillness in a Changing World

Frozen Sol - 20x26 Inches - Oil on Linen - 2025

Lately, I’ve been thinking about what it means to hold onto something permanent in a world that is always shifting. There’s a part of me that longs for stability—something solid and concrete, like stone or artic ice. And yet, I’m drawn just as much to transformation, to movement, to the fire that reshapes everything it touches.

I think we all feel this tension in different ways. Maybe it’s in the way we try to preserve certain moments, knowing they’ll pass no matter how tightly we hold on. Or in the way we find ourselves looking at old versions of who we were, wondering when exactly we changed. There’s a strange comfort in knowing that nothing stays the same, but also a quiet grief.

This past week, I’ve been thinking about how that tension plays out in my own life—not just in my work, but in the choices I make every day. The pull between the familiar and the unknown. The desire for certainty, but also for growth. The moments when I feel anchored, and the moments when I feel like I’m drifting into something I don’t fully understand yet.

It’s made me realize how much of life exists in this in-between space. We’re always becoming, always moving toward something—sometimes by choice, sometimes because time pulls us forward whether we like it or not. But even in that movement, there’s something still. Something constant beneath all the change.

As Heraclitus once said, “No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.” Maybe the stillness we’re searching for isn’t about holding onto something fixed, but about finding presence in the flow. Maybe the real permanence isn’t in resisting change, but in the awareness that carries us through it.

We’re all navigating this in our own way, but I think art—and maybe life itself—is about learning how to stand at the edge of the unknown and trust that something meaningful is waiting there.