Islands of Quiet
I want to tell you something about the paintings.
Not what they mean – I never quite know that until much later, if ever – but what they are for.
Lately, I've come to think of each one as an island. A small, held place. Somewhere the water doesn't reach, where the noise of the world thins out and you can hear yourself again.
I make them, I think, because I need them.
The world has felt so dense this year – dense with news, with speed, with everyone's everything, all the time. And winter usually saves me from it.
Usually by now I would have gone quiet. Curled into the studio, let the light become short and soft, let myself slow down the way the trees do, the way the ground does.
Hibernation as its own kind of work – necessary, unglamorous, the work of not working, so that something can gather itself underneath.
But this year, that hasn't come.
I've noticed myself reaching for the usual retreat and finding that the door doesn't open the way it normally does. The season turned, the light did what it always does, and still – no stillness.
Maybe you've felt this too. That the rest you know you need isn't finding you on its own this time, no matter how much the calendar says it should.
So I've had to go looking for it instead of waiting for it.
And that's what the islands are, I think.
Not escape exactly – I'm not trying to leave the world. I love the world, thick and difficult as it is – but a place beside it. A second geography I can step into.
Somewhere colour behaves the way I need it to. Where a shape can simply be a shape. Where nothing is asking anything of me.
When I'm standing in front of a canvas, building one of these calm places, something in my chest unclenches that I didn't know was clenched.
And I don't think this is only mine to have.
I think everyone needs an island – some place, made or found, that exists parallel to the dense world rather than fighting it.
It doesn't have to be a painting.
It could be twenty minutes with your hands in the soil. A piece of music you let take up the whole room. A walk with no destination. The particular kind of quiet that comes from doing something with your hands while your mind goes soft and elsewhere.
What matters isn't the form it takes. It's that it's yours, and that it's imaginative enough to feel like another world, yet close enough to slip into on an ordinary Tuesday.
If your usual hibernation hasn't come this year either, I don't think that means anything is wrong.
Maybe it simply means the island needs to be built on purpose this time, rather than arriving on its own the way it used to.
So this is my gentle nudge to you, reader – go and make or find your calm place.
Something that fills your cup rather than empties it further. Something that exists beside this world rather than asking you to keep striving inside it.
You don't need permission, and you don't need to be good at it.
You just need somewhere to rest that isn't waiting for the season to be kind to you.
I'll be here on my island, mixing colour, waiting for you to visit.
With love,
Kirana xx
What's On:
Some paintings offer themselves immediately, in the first encounter with colour.
Others reveal themselves more slowly, in what only becomes visible when we stop looking and begin noticing.
This exhibition moves in both directions at once.
The first is outward – sunlit.
These paintings are filled with colour, with light caught and reflected, with the quiet joy that rises unexpectedly from ordinary moments. They are bright because the world, when we truly allow ourselves to see it, is bright. Because colour is its own form of honesty.
The second moves inward – unspoken.
Here, the paintings slow down. They leave space to look, to wonder, and to feel. They are less interested in answers than in what begins to emerge when we sit with stillness long enough. They invite us to notice the quiet things – the feelings, memories and small truths that only reveal themselves when the noise falls away.
In the studio, making these works became its own form of contemplation. Each painting was a gentle negotiation between intention and surrender, between knowing and discovering. That same conversation exists throughout this exhibition.
These two bodies of work are not opposites so much as companions.
The sunlit and the unspoken need one another.
Colour without contemplation can become spectacle. Contemplation without colour can become austere.
Held together, they become an invitation.
To slow down.
To notice.
And perhaps to discover what has been quietly waiting for you all along.
SAVE THE DATE | SUNLIT-UNSPOKEN
Opening Night
Saturday, 7 November 2026
Kirana’s Home Gallery
Further details, venue information and RSVP will be shared soon.
I can't wait to welcome you.
With love,
Kirana xx
Open Studio + Walk in Art Class
Kirana’s studio is open on Wednesdays from 10am to 4pm, and most Saturdays from 9am to 12pm (see dates above). You’re warmly invited to drop in, have a look around the studio, enjoy a cup of tea or hot chocolate, and stay for a relaxed chat. There’s no pressure and no expectations – just an open door and a welcoming space.
By popular demand, Saturdays also include a walk-in art class from 10am to 12pm. This relaxed and friendly session is open to everyone – whether you’re an experienced artist or simply curious to explore your creative side. All materials are provided, $70 per person (GST included), and the focus is on enjoying the process of making art in a calm, supportive environment.
We look forward to welcoming you into the studio.
One on One Art Lessons
Can be booked suitable to your timetable, tailored to your needs and all ages.
$110 p/h (GST inc) | All art materials included
ArtSHINE x Kirana Haag collection on Threadless
Friends & Family Code: FAMd6e722b
Final Notes
All the above are also great gift ideas for a loved one who would benefit from some breathing space and would love to try something new.
If you would like more information on any of these workshops or to book, simply reply to this email or contact me on 0448446466.
With lots of love,
Kirana xx