SPOTSWOOD'S AT SUNSET
Some paintings begin with an idea. Others begin with a feeling.
Spotswoods at Sunset started the moment I saw this little house resting quietly at the end of the pier. The first time I visited, I couldn't stop looking at it. There was something so peaceful about its presence and the way it seemed to belong completely to the water, the breeze, and the rhythm of the bay. Before we ever left that day, I knew I wanted to paint it.
What makes this piece especially meaningful is that it isn't just a beautiful place. It's home to my boyfriend's wonderful family, who welcomed me with a kindness and warmth that made every visit feel special. They are strong believers, and there is a quiet but powerful sense of faith that fills this home; a feeling that this family truly lives in the Lord's house, grounded in love, grace, and purpose. Over the past month, I've had the privilege of spending time there, sharing meals, watching the water, laughing on the porch, and slowing down in a way life rarely allows. Places become beautiful because of the people who fill them, and this one is no exception.
As an artist, I often paint from photographs or memories, but this was one of the first times I've had the opportunity to paint a place while sitting in front of it, experiencing every shifting reflection, every breeze, and every subtle change in light. There was something incredibly freeing about observing it in real time rather than trying to recreate it later. It challenged me to notice details I may have otherwise overlooked and to paint not just what I saw, but what I felt standing there.
For most of the process, though, the painting felt unfinished.
The house was there. The pier was there. The water was there. Yet something was missing.
The sky remained a simple blue for days because I couldn't figure out what belonged there. I knew it needed more than just color, it needed to show just how much it meant to me.
Then it hit me.
One of the things that has captivated me most about Fairhope isn't just its quiet charm or the bay itself. It's the sunsets.
My boyfriend's mom had shown me photographs she'd taken over the years; each one completely different from the last. Some glowed with warm golds, others melted into soft pinks and deep oranges, and every evening seemed to tell its own story. As I thought back to those moments, I realized the sunset wasn't just another detail. To me, those sunsets have always represented hope; the quiet reminder that no matter how the day ends, the sun will rise again, a reflection of the faith that this family lives by each day.
It was the missing piece.
Rather than copying one specific evening, I painted the sunset that existed in my memory, the one my heart remembered. A sky woven together from every beautiful evening I'd watched fade over the water, every photograph I'd admired, and every feeling those moments left behind.
In many ways, this painting became less about documenting a house and more about capturing the feeling of being there.
It holds the laughter shared around the table, the stillness of the bay, the kindness of a family who welcomed me as one of their own, and the quiet reminders of God's faithfulness found in both ordinary moments and breathtaking sunsets.
I originally titled this piece The House on the Pier, but after spending time here, that name no longer felt complete. This place had become more than a landmark, it had become a memory.
So it became Spotswoods at Sunset.
A tribute not only to a beautiful home on the bay, but to the people who make it one, and to the sunsets that reminded me that some of life's most meaningful moments aren't planned, they're simply received.