When the Unseen Arrives, It Whispers
Cheryl Quejada Canning, Sydney 18July 2026 a 1.5-minute read.
Excerpts: Between brushstrokes, symbols drift toward me from places I cannot name, revealing themselves only when I am still enough to listen
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When the Unseen Arrives, It Whispers
There is a rhythm I’ve learned to trust in my oil painting practice. I don’t push. I don’t pressure myself. I don’t force an image to appear before it’s ready. I wait — and in that waiting, something quiet begins to move. When the next element unfolds, I listen and respond. That is how my paintings speak to me.
For months, my 48×38-inch linen piece rested in the studio like a sleeping thought. Not unfinished — simply waiting for what had not yet revealed itself. I sensed the absence of a symbol, something that would anchor the story of cultural identity woven through the figure. But I never rush that part. Paintings have their own timing, and I’ve learned to honour it.
A few days ago, while browsing without intention, an image flickered across my screen. A small spark — subtle, but unmistakable. I sketched the plant directly onto the canvas, trusting the impulse. It felt familiar, like something remembered from a place I couldn’t name. My hand moved before my mind understood — the kind of intuition that has guided me for years.
The next day, on my way out, I changed direction at the last moment and passed a florist I rarely notice. And there it was. The exact plant I had sketched the day before — the same eucalyptus buds, the same pale leaves, the same quiet structure. Seeing it in real life felt uncanny, almost cosmic, as if the painting had whispered its needs ahead of time and the world simply placed the answer in front of me.
It was a moment of recognition: my Filipino cultural memory meeting my Australian landscape in a single symbol. The eucalyptus wasn’t random. It was the missing element the painting had been waiting for — the bridge between two worlds I carry within me.
This is what happens in between paintings — the quiet spaces where intuition, memory, and lived experience meet. Where symbols rise not through effort, but through openness. Where the unseen steps forward when the time is right.
Sometimes the painting knows before I do. And when it unfolds, I listen.
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