What colour is nostalgia?
You might say it’s sepia-toned, soft-edged, or dusted in golden-hour sunlight. For me, it’s the pale stone of St Paul’s Cathedral against a changing London skyline, the long shadows cast across Primrose Hill in autumn, or the golden haze over Highgate Hill just before dusk. These aren’t just pretty scenes — they’re fragments of memory, layered with meaning, echoing moments that shaped the London I’ve come to know over the last 28 years.
Fifteen years. That’s how long I’ve been painting this city. Always searching, never quite finished.
🚲 The Hunt for the Next Scene
My studio? The streets of London. My tools? A Nikon SLR, a well-worn bicycle, a map in my head, and a rucksack filled with snacks, sketchbooks, and battery packs.
The city is endless in its offerings — a constant muse. But the right composition? That’s a trickier beast. I don’t often find it in a day. Sometimes it takes three return visits. Sometimes I stare at a corner I’ve passed a hundred times before suddenly seeing it with new eyes — crouching in a doorway, standing in the middle of the road (yes, I’ve had a few honks), or waiting for the right slant of sunlight to reveal the soul of a street.
Light is everything. The season matters too — longer shadows in winter, brighter highlights in spring. London shifts constantly. And somehow, that’s what makes it so addictive to paint.
🏙️ The City That Never Stands Still
Before all this — before the, paint palettes, and gallery walls — I was just another suit-wearing hopeful, pacing the pavements of the City with a CV in one hand and ambition in the other. This was 1997. No emails. No LinkedIn. Just grit, leather shoes, and a phonebook. I’d wander past St Paul’s Cathedral often, and one day, exhausted and uncertain, I sat on a bench in its shadow. I remember looking up at that great dome, feeling both small and inspired. I stepped inside. The scale of it. The history. The muscle it took to build it — all left an impression that’s never quite faded.
This year, I finally climbed to the very top of the spire. And I’ll be honest — I’ve never had an issue with heights… until that moment. But what a view. What perspective.
🎨 Why I Painted St Paul’s
My latest painting captures St Paul’s from the Millennium Bridge — a modern frame around an ancient heart. You’ll notice the bridge stretches boldly across the foreground. Some say it steals the scene, but for me, it grounds it. A symbol of the now, pointing us toward what has endured.
When I painted this, I imagined the Great Fire of London, the wooden homes that once stood here, the families who peered out their windows at this structure rising in the smoke. I thought of 1997-me, walking those same streets. I thought of you, perhaps walking them now.
This isn’t just a painting of St Paul’s. It’s a portrait of change. Of resilience. Of nostalgia — the kind you feel in your bones when you see something familiar in a new way.
🖼️ More to Come…
In future posts, I’ll share the stories behind Primrose Hill and Highgate Hill — two more scenes steeped in sunlight, memory, and movement. But for now, I hope this painting of St Paul’s and the Millennium Bridge brings something back for you — a walk, a season, a moment, even if just a flicker of memory.
Because nostalgia does have a colour. And I’ve painted it here.
