An open hand reaches out of soft folds of cloth, offered rather than held back. Light comes in from the upper corner and breaks across the palm into faceted planes of gold, orange, prussian blue and umber. It’s painted in layers. First comes graphite and stenciled words, then transparent oil washes before the final glazes, Which let the earliest marks glow faintly underneath. Inspired by Psalm 16:11, its a quiet piece about the comfort and faithfulness of God’s promise.
The Story
“You make known to me the path of life; you will fill me with joy in your presence, with eternal pleasures at your right hand.”
— Psalm 16:11
I kept coming back to the hand.
It isn’t grabbing or asking for anything. It’s just open, the way a promise is.
Before any oil touched this canvas, I stenciled words across it. Layer by layer, most of them disappeared under transparent color. I left them there on purpose. That’s how I’ve come to understand God’s promises. They sit underneath everything and hold it all up, even in the seasons when I can’t see them.
The light in this painting doesn’t arrive all at once. It breaks into small pieces and settles quietly across the palm. That’s how His comfort has found me, too. It comes in ordinary moments, and it’s faithful every time.
This one is meant for a place where you’ll pass it every day: a hallway, a reading corner, beside the chair where you pray. It’s a small, steady reminder that you’re held.
This painting arrives framed and ready to hang
An open hand reaches out of soft folds of cloth, offered rather than held back. Light comes in from the upper corner and breaks across the palm into faceted planes of gold, orange, prussian blue and umber. It’s painted in layers. First comes graphite and stenciled words, then transparent oil washes before the final glazes, Which let the earliest marks glow faintly underneath. Inspired by Psalm 16:11, its a quiet piece about the comfort and faithfulness of God’s promise.
The Story
“You make known to me the path of life; you will fill me with joy in your presence, with eternal pleasures at your right hand.”
— Psalm 16:11
I kept coming back to the hand.
It isn’t grabbing or asking for anything. It’s just open, the way a promise is.
Before any oil touched this canvas, I stenciled words across it. Layer by layer, most of them disappeared under transparent color. I left them there on purpose. That’s how I’ve come to understand God’s promises. They sit underneath everything and hold it all up, even in the seasons when I can’t see them.
The light in this painting doesn’t arrive all at once. It breaks into small pieces and settles quietly across the palm. That’s how His comfort has found me, too. It comes in ordinary moments, and it’s faithful every time.
This one is meant for a place where you’ll pass it every day: a hallway, a reading corner, beside the chair where you pray. It’s a small, steady reminder that you’re held.
This painting arrives framed and ready to hang
