Slowing Down to Really See
Hi there,
I hope you’re all keeping well and staying safe with everything that’s happening in the world.
Here in France, we’re still in the middle of a heatwave and, quite honestly, we’re slowly cooking!
The studio has become a very warm place to work, and even my faithful fan has given up trying to keep me cool.
These days I find myself working later in the evenings, when the air finally begins to soften, as I prepare for my French retreat, which begins in just three weeks. I can hardly believe how quickly time is flying.
Recently, during the eclipse, I found myself thinking about time in a different way.
There was something magical about it. For a little while, the world seemed to pause. People stopped what they were doing, looked up, waited, and shared a moment of quiet wonder. It reminded me how rare it is that we allow ourselves simply to slow down.
While many people were watching the sky, I found myself looking inward instead. Perhaps it’s also the time of year. As summer begins to draw towards autumn, I always seem to reflect on what has unfolded over the past months—what has changed, what has stayed with me, and what I want to carry forward.
That reflection naturally led me to think about my workshops and the way I teach.
People often join my workshops expecting to learn encaustic techniques, and of course we do explore materials, processes and methods.
But over the years I’ve realised that what I’m really teaching goes much deeper than technique.
More than anything, I hope to help people learn how to notice.
How to slow down.
How to truly see.
We spend so much of our lives rushing from one thing to the next that we miss an extraordinary amount. I want to encourage artists to gather visual information without immediately reaching for a camera or a reference image.
To collect experiences through their senses, through observation, through fragments that settle quietly in the body before they ever become a painting.
I believe in trusting the body.
Allowing the hands to remember before the mind tries to explain.
I believe in working in layers—not only physically, but emotionally, conceptually and visually.
I believe that uncertainty isn’t something to escape from but something to stay with. So often we want answers too quickly, yet some of the richest discoveries happen when we allow ourselves to remain in the unknown just a little longer.
The process of scraping back, revealing hidden marks, allowing history to remain visible—these aren’t just encaustic techniques. They are ways of understanding how our work, and perhaps even our lives, are built over time. Layer by layer.
Experience by experience.
I’ve also realised that my workshops aren’t really about making better paintings. They’re about cultivating attention. About learning to observe deeply, absorb fully, trust the process and discover meaning as it slowly emerges.
To me, that’s what being an artist is really about.
By the way, there’s now just one week left before my 2027 workshop schedule is released to the general public.
Two workshops are already completely full with waiting lists—Galway and Dublin—and all of the remaining workshops are already over half full.
If you’ve been thinking about joining us next year, I’d love to welcome you.
You can reserve your place by following the link below before bookings open to everyone on the 21st August.
As I finish writing this, I’m reminded that inspiration rarely arrives when we’re rushing. More often, it appears quietly—in the play of light across a wall, the texture of peeling paint, the shape of a shadow, or the silence between one moment and the next.
So, if you can, slow down a little this week.
Step outside.
Really look.
Notice the colours, the patterns, the small details that usually pass unnoticed.
They may seem insignificant, but often they become the beginning of something much larger.
Because sometimes the most important thing we can do, as artists and as human beings, is simply to pay attention.
Until next time,
ISABELLE