Have you ever seen a painting, moved on, and found yourself looking for it again? Perhaps you closed the browser tab and opened it the next morning. Perhaps you walked back across a gallery for one more look. You might not even be able to say what caught you.
I think that return is worth paying attention to. We see hundreds of images in a week, and most pass us by. When one painting stays, something in it has met something in us. That does not mean you must buy it. It means there may be more to discover.
You can feel something before you have words for it
With abstract art, there may be no familiar scene to explain what you are seeing. Colour moves towards you. A dark edge holds against a bright one. A mark has a force or softness that you cannot quite account for. You notice your own reaction before you have formed an opinion about whether the painting would look good on your wall.
This is how I hope people meet my work. I paint instinctively, following curiosity, colour and feeling, usually with music playing. I cannot decide what a painting will mean to the person who takes it home. Her life comes into the encounter too.
You do not need to decode the painting to be allowed to love it. You can begin with the simple fact that you want to look again.
Your memories may be part of the pull
A painting does not have to depict your story to bring it to mind. A colour might remind you of a dress you wore on an important day. A shape might feel like movement, shelter or a door opening. Sometimes the connection is clear; sometimes it sits just beyond language.
Researchers at Duke University asked people to look at unfamiliar abstract paintings. In their experiments, viewers reported feeling more emotionally moved when a painting spontaneously brought a personal memory to mind. The effect was weaker when people were instructed to search for a memory. That is an interesting clue about why a work can feel unexpectedly personal; it is not a rule that explains every response to art. Read Duke's account of the research.
When I picked up a paintbrush at 52, shortly before my mother died, I could not have known how much of my own life would find its way into the work. I can tell you where a painting began for me, but you may recognise an entirely different part of yourself in it. Both experiences can belong to the same canvas.
Look at what keeps calling you back
If you return to a painting, give yourself a little time with it. What did you notice first: a colour, a texture, a sense of movement, the name? What do you see on the second look that you missed on the first? Try looking at the whole piece, then at a detail, then from a distance again.
You might find yourself drawn to the quiet certainty of The Queen, or to the depth and mystery of The Sorceress. Another person might walk straight past them and stop at a different work. That difference is part of what makes collecting art personal.
It can help to ask how you feel when you meet the painting again. Interested? Comforted? Braver? None of those responses needs to be proven or turned into an elaborate explanation. Notice whether the work continues to hold your attention once the first surprise has passed.
Imagine living with the painting
Once that connection has had space to breathe, picture the painting at home. Where would you see it every day? What happens when you walk into that room in the morning, or come back to it after a difficult day? A work can carry a private meaning without needing to announce it to anyone who visits.
I make art for women who have lived enough life to recognise something of themselves in it. Perhaps a painting meets you at a birthday, after a loss or at the start of a new chapter. Perhaps you simply love its colour and presence. There is no correct story you must attach to it.
Give yourself permission to look again
Before you decide, return to the image in different light or ask to see more photographs and close-ups. Check its dimensions against your wall. If you can see the original in person, take that chance. These practical steps matter because a painting is something you will live with, not just an image you admired for a moment.
Then listen to your own response. I cannot promise that the painting you return to is the one you should take home. Sometimes we admire a work deeply and leave it where it is. But if you keep finding your way back, there is no need to dismiss that feeling because you cannot explain it neatly.
Some paintings are easy to admire. Others seem to recognise us. When one keeps calling you back, stay a little longer and see what she has to say.