What are you willing to burn?

I’ve been working on a new series of paintings for a few weeks now. But instead of starting with blank surfaces, I’ve been repurposing old work. I chose 20 old wooden panels that are either unfinished or unsold, and I sanded them back—scraping away what once was and creating something entirely new on top.

Sometimes I can’t even remember why I made those original pieces, or who I was when I painted them. Others resonate clearly with the memories of 2020 or 2022. I can picture what I was feeling, and I know what I was pursuing. 

The sanding is a raw and physical act. The dust flies. The old colours get ground into silence. Some textures remain like old bones.

But that’s the beauty of it.

I’m not erasing the past. I’m repurposing it. The history is still there—textured into the surface—but now it’s part of something new. Something more grounded. Something that feels truer to the present moment.

I'm also making space ... as I sand back all that paint, I am making a space for something new to come in. The past is no longer holding me back ... I'm inviting in the future.

And as I work, I realise: this isn’t just about the paintings.

I’m doing the same thing in my life.

There’s been a lot of letting go over the past few years. Letting go of perceptions, of people, and of the stories I told myself. There’s been pain and there’s been grief. But slowly—quietly—I’ve started to rebuild.

Not by pretending nothing happened. Not by wiping the slate clean. But by layering something new over what once existed.

By choosing to create something beautiful out of the pieces that remain.

Just like the panels in my studio, I carry the marks of what’s come before. The things I’ve lost. The things I’ve learned. The moments I thought might break me.

But now, those things are no longer the whole story. They are simply the underpainting.

This new work feels like healing. It feels like reclamation.

It feels like a way of saying: "Yes, that happened. And now… this."

So I’ve been asking myself: What am I willing to burn?

What needs to be released so I can move forward with clarity and softness and strength?

Maybe you’re feeling that too. A quiet pull toward shedding.

A readiness for something new, even if you don’t yet know what it looks like.

If so, here’s a journal prompt you might try:

What have I outgrown—creatively, emotionally, spiritually—that I’m ready to let go of?

Give yourself time to answer slowly. Let the dust settle.

You won't know yet what will take the place of the things you release, but trust that something new is waiting beneath the surface. It always is :)