The Art of Longing: Capturing the Privilege of Nostalgia

I recently came across a new word: “hiraeth.”

It is a Welsh term with no perfect English translation, a deep longing for something, especially a home. It is the ache of homesickness for a place you cannot return to, or perhaps never truly knew. A bittersweet yearning for lost places of the past. Sometimes it is for a loved one, a pet, or a moment that lives only in memory. It is the subtle, persistent awareness that something is missing from your life.

I felt this immediately.

I have always been a deeply nostalgic person. I am forever looking for ways to hold onto the essence of memories with loved ones, not just the events themselves, but the feeling of them. Nostalgia is bittersweet. You cannot revisit what you long for, but it is also proof that you have lived moments worth missing. And what a privilege it is to yearn for your own memories.

One of my favourite things about art is its power to hold onto that longing. Sometimes, yes, it is a direct portrait of a beloved pet or family member. These are treasures, especially when you can capture the life you shared in their eyes. But often, my favourite commissions are the less obvious ones, artworks that hold a story, a moment, a feeling.

It does not have to be a perfect photograph. In fact, sometimes the less photogenic, the better. The best paintings are often the ones that make you ask questions.

Imagine this: you are having a wonderful night with close friends. You share an incredible bottle of wine. The waitress snaps a quick photo for you, four friends smiling at a table. Nice enough, but nothing spectacular. You order another bottle. And another. You remember it was that wine, that night… but later, when you open a bottle at home, it is not the same. Months later, your home feels a little empty. A little impersonal. Not cluttered, just missing something that feels like you.

Now imagine a large, expressive artwork of that very bottle of wine. Not just a painting of the bottle, but a piece alive with the colours of that evening: the deep red of the wine, the warm tones of the restaurant, maybe even the colour of the dress you wore or the jacket your friend had on. Painted in bold acrylic with texture and personality, or in loose, merging watercolours with fine ink lines. A piece that not only fits your wall, but your life.

That is meaningful art.

It does not need to be sombre or heavy. It can be a vibrant celebration of a time, a place, or a person. It is art as an extension of your life, a way to cement the privilege of nostalgia.

Right now, I am working on one of the most special commissions I have ever been asked to create. It is about the bond between a mother and daughter, a bond that was tragically cut short. Their last outing together was to a flower farm, wandering between rows of blooms in the soft light of day. I have been asked to paint that moment: mother and daughter in a field of flowers. It is a celebration of the first relationship we have in life, and a way to honour an incredible mother who is no longer here. Every brushstroke is an act of remembrance and love, turning grief into something tender, colourful and lasting.

One of my other favourite examples was from an artist in Australia. A client had photographed a breathtaking sunset, not knowing that only hours later, a close family member would pass away. She commissioned a large, post-Impressionist-style landscape of that sunset. Now it hangs in her home, bringing colour to her walls and light to her grief. Visitors admire it, and she has the chance to tell the story, honouring the life of someone she loved.

That is the power of meaningful art.

It can help us navigate life, loss, and love. It can bring colour and warmth to our spaces, even when our hearts are heavy. It can be a quiet companion to our memories.

And sometimes, it is simply a way to hold onto a fleeting moment, even one that never truly was.