Daily Watercolors: A Year of Painting
In January 2025, I began each morning with a brush in hand and a simple promise to myself: to paint a little something every day. What started as a quiet way to reconnect with creativity became the gentle rhythm of my year: a daily practice of noticing beauty, playing with color, and beginning each day with intention.From snowy winter mornings to sun-dappled kitchen corners and the slow turning of the seasons, each painting is a small glimpse into ordinary moments. This gallery gathers those studies together — one year in watercolor, one brushstroke at a time.January: A Winter Wonderland
This was my first winter back in the U.S. after 15 years away, and everything felt both new and nostalgic. Snow-covered fields, frosty windows, and quiet gray mornings became my muse. I leaned into soft blues and gentle whites, painting the hush of winter and the comfort of being tucked inside—wrapped in warmth, memory, and a fresh start.
February: Sweetheart Season
February arrived like a whisper, with soft pink skies and the promise of warmth in the midst of winter’s chill. I leaned into the quiet romance of the season—painting hearts, handwritten notes, love letters left half-open, and the delicate details that speak without words. This month’s palette was full of blush tones and gentle reds, inspired by fleeting feelings, lace-edged paper, and the kind of sweetness that lingers long after the day is done.
March: The Heart of the Home
March brought a rhythm of warmth and flour-dusted mornings. After months of winter stillness, I found comfort in the simple act of making—measuring, stirring, kneading, steeping. I painted teacups on counters, golden croissants on crumpled napkins, and the quiet glow of the oven light. These small kitchen scenes felt like home—familiar, nurturing, and filled with love in its most nourishing form.
April: In the Garden
After a long, quiet winter, the world outside began to soften, and so did my brush. April felt like a season of slow awakenings: the first green shoots breaking through the soil, the clink of garden tools pulled from their winter rest, the shy unfolding of petals in the cool morning air. I painted watering cans, seed packets, and tender blossoms still damp with spring rain: small, hopeful signs that life was beginning again. In every brushstroke, I found a quiet joy: a reminder that even the smallest beginnings can grow into something beautiful.
May: In Bloom
May arrived in a flurry of petals and perfume. Everywhere I looked, something was blooming—lilacs heavy on the branch, garden roses tumbling open, and the soft green of new leaves unfolding like a secret. My palette brightened with each day: blush, lavender, leafy green, butter yellow. I painted armfuls of flowers, a floret seed packet, even a humble wheelbarrow filled with the joy of tending and gathering. This month, the act of painting felt like gathering a bouquet—each brushstroke a bloom, each moment a memory. It was a celebration of abundance, beauty, and the quiet magic that happens when we simply let things grow.
June: A Month to Celebrate
June arrived like a party on the breeze—bright, cheerful, and full of reasons to pause and smile. With my birthday nestled in the heart of the month, every day felt like a little celebration. I painted things that spark joy: a slice of cake with berries on top, a party hat tossed on a picnic blanket, a stack of gifts tied with ribbon, wildflowers gathered on a sunny walk.There was laughter in the air and golden light on every surface—proof that joy doesn’t have to be loud to be felt. In every painting, I tried to capture that feeling: the soft sparkle of summer, the sweetness of being known and loved, and the quiet thrill of starting another trip around the sun.
July: A Splash of Americana
July came alive in bold brushstrokes of red, white, and blue. Inspired by the Fourth of July, my sketchbook filled with little nods to classic Americana—flags waving in the summer breeze, jars of lemonade on picnic tables, and the easy charm of stripes and stars.It was a month that felt both nostalgic and festive, capturing the joy of summer gatherings, fireworks that light up the night sky, and the simple beauty of traditions that bring us together. In each painting, I wanted to hold on to that sense of freedom and celebration—the kind that feels both timeless and fleeting, like sparklers in the dusk.
August: A Tale of Two Halves
August was a study in contrasts. At the start of the month, my brush turned toward crisp notebooks, sharpened pencils, and the quiet anticipation of back-to-school season. It was a return to rhythm, structure, and the comforting ritual of fresh starts.But as the days stretched on and the garden came into full abundance, my palette shifted. Suddenly, it was all about sun-warmed tomatoes, baskets of cucumbers, and dahlias bursting into bloom. Each page became a love letter to late-summer harvests and the joy of gathering what the season has grown.In the end, August reminded me that life is always a blend of beginnings and abundance—a season that asks us to balance routine with gratitude for the richness right in front of us.
September: Morning Rituals
September slowed everything down. As the air cooled and routines settled back into place, I found myself drawn again and again to coffee mugs; sturdy, familiar, quietly comforting. Each one felt like a small anchor to the day ahead. A blue-rimmed diner mug. A speckled ceramic cup warming my hands. A to-go mug carried out the door on crisp mornings.
My palette softened into creamy whites, inky blues, gentle greys, and the occasional pop of pattern. Painting mugs became a meditation on ritual, the pause before the day begins, the comfort of repetition, the beauty in something used and loved. This month was about finding meaning in the everyday, and honoring the simple moments that carry us from season to season.
October: A Little Bit of Magic
October arrived with a playful shift in mood. The days grew shorter, shadows stretched longer, and a hint of magic crept into my sketchbook. Pumpkins appeared on kitchen counters, striped candy wrappers crinkled in pockets, and little nods to Halloween found their way onto the page — festive, nostalgic, and just a touch whimsical.
The colors deepened into inky blacks, warm oranges, soft pinks, and muted neutrals. This month wasn’t about fright, but about fun — the cozy excitement of costumes, candlelight, and traditions that feel delightfully familiar. Painting in October felt like leaning into imagination, letting creativity be lighthearted, and embracing the joy of a season that invites us to play.
November: Wrapped in Warmth
November brought a quiet kind of comfort. Leaves turned amber and rust beneath my feet, the light softened, and the world seemed to exhale. My paintings followed suit, filled with cozy fall tones, swirling leaves, earthy greens, warm browns, and the gentle glow of autumn settling in.
This month was about warmth and reflection. About slowing down, pulling sweaters closer, and noticing the beauty in what’s fading as much as what remains. Each brushstroke felt like a small act of gratitude, a way to honor the richness of the season and the calm that comes from letting things rest. November reminded me that there is beauty in softness, in stillness, and in the quiet moments before winter begins.
December: Tied with Tradition
December arrived wrapped in deep reds and evergreen greens, a season steeped in warmth, memory, and familiar comforts. My palette turned richer and more festive, filled with ornaments, ribbons, pine branches, and little moments that felt borrowed from a classic Christmas story.There was something grounding about returning to these timeless colors and symbols. They carried echoes of old holidays, cozy rooms, and the kind of celebrations that live on in photographs and family stories. Each painting felt like a quiet nod to tradition, to the beauty of gathering, of slowing down, of savoring what feels familiar and dear.As the year came to a close, December reminded me that creativity, like the season itself, is often at its most meaningful when it’s rooted in warmth, nostalgia, and the simple joy of coming home.
A Year in Watercolor
Twelve months. Three hundred and sixty-five paintings. A practice that began quietly and slowly grew into something steady and grounding.Looking back across these pages, I see more than just paint and paper — I see mornings spent noticing, seasons gently unfolding, and a year marked by small moments of attention and care. Each painting became a way of showing up, even on the days when it would have been easier not to.Thank you for wandering through this year with me. Whether you arrived for a favorite season, a single image, or the whole journey, I hope these pages invite you to pause, breathe, and find a little beauty of your own in the everyday.Behind the Brush: Reflections from the Studio
Each morning begins with a brushstroke, a quiet ritual of creativity, color, and joy.
In the Daydream Paper Studio Journal, I share the stories and inspirations behind this year-long watercolor journey: the simple moments that spark an idea, the beauty found in everyday life, and the lessons woven into the rhythm of slowing down to create.
Explore the journal to see the full reflections, seasonal inspirations, and a closer look behind the paintings.
