Studio Journal Entry 002: The Story Behind Cathedral Reef

"I don't know if I was ever really ready for it to be done."

Some paintings fight you from beginning to end.

Cathedral Reef wasn't one of them.

From the very beginning, I knew I wanted to paint an underwater scene. Unlike many of my paintings, which tend to evolve as I work, this one stayed remarkably true to the vision I had in my head. It was one of the first times I realized that sometimes a painting already knows what it wants to become.

That didn't make it any easier to finish.

In fact, I don't think I was ever really ready for it to be done.

The fish were the very last thing I painted. By the time they were finished, I realized something surprising—I didn't want to touch the canvas anymore. Not because there was nothing left to add, but because I had reached that rare moment where the risk of "just one more thing" felt greater than the possibility of making it better.

So I stopped.

When I look at Cathedral Reef today, the first feeling that washes over me is calm.

Then, almost immediately, I feel energized.

To me, it feels like floating underwater—where everything is peaceful, yet completely alive.

And if I'm being completely honest...

Every time I look at it now, I hear Under the Sea from The Little Mermaid.

I know. 😂

There's something cheerful and playful about this painting that has never left me. It doesn't take itself too seriously, and maybe that's part of why I still love it.

One of the biggest surprises wasn't actually the painting.

It was the varnish.

At the time, I had no idea that acrylic paint dries darker and duller than it appears when it's wet. When I brushed on the high-gloss varnish, the painting transformed right in front of me. The blues deepened, the light returned, and suddenly the entire underwater world looked alive again.

It taught me one of my earliest lessons as an artist:

Sometimes finishing a painting isn't about the last brushstroke.

Sometimes it's about trusting the final layer.

My favorite part of Cathedral Reef isn't actually the fish.

It's the ocean floor.

I love the way the light filters through the water and dances across the sand. To me, it almost looks like the ocean floor is glowing—that the sand itself is gently moving beneath the surface.

It's one of those little details that still makes me pause.

What surprised me most about Cathedral Reef happened long after it was finished.

I always thought of it as one of my more traditional paintings—less abstract than much of the work I create today. While I was busy falling in love with paintings like Convergence, people kept coming back to Cathedral Reef.

It quickly became one of the pieces people asked about most, and one of the first paintings I decided to release as a limited-edition print.

I never expected that.

And I love that I was wrong.

Cathedral Reef reminds me that creativity doesn't always have to follow one path. Long before palette knives, heavy texture, and acrylic mediums became part of my process, this painting reminded me that sometimes a simple brush, a handful of colors, and an idea are all you really need.

It will probably always be one of the paintings that reminds me where this journey began.

Until next time,

Thanks for spending a few minutes behind the easel with me.

One of my favorite things about abstract art is that no two people experience a painting the same way. If this piece reminds you of a place, a memory, or simply a feeling, then it's already begun a conversation—and I love that.

See you in the studio,

Lisa
LBW Creative Studio

——

One Last Thought Before I Clean My Brushes

"Sometimes the paintings that surprise everyone else end up surprising the artist the most."