There are times when you watch an artist's work change and you sense that something behind the work has changed too.
I remember seeing Arron creating this piece on Instagram.
Immediately, I thought it was brilliant.
But there was something different about it.
Much of Arron's earlier work had felt confrontational — layers of words, thoughts and emotions fighting for space amongst the colour. There was humour and energy, but there could also be darkness.
This felt like something else.
SERENITY.
PEACE.
COOL.
TRUST IT, MATE.
Amongst all the chaos, suddenly there seemed to be calm.
And knowing something of the journey Arron has publicly shared — his struggles with alcohol, recovery and later his baptism — I couldn't help seeing this work as the beginning of another chapter.
Not necessarily an ending.
More a release.
I followed the piece as Arron created it, but later saw it appear elsewhere online and assumed somebody had bought it.
Another one I'd missed.
So I put it out of my mind.
Then, some time later, I finally visited Arron's studio.
And there it was.
Still hanging on the wall.
Alongside it was Mary, its companion piece.
I genuinely couldn't believe it was still available.
I tried very hard to contain my enthusiasm.
Probably not particularly successfully.
And eventually, it came home with me.
Today it hangs on my wall, and the more I look at it, the more I think the words are what make the piece extraordinary.
Look past the explosion of pinks, blues, reds and greens. Look past the portrait, the drips and the graffiti.
There are these little messages emerging from the noise.
Serenity.
Peace.
Cool.
And, perhaps my favourite:
Trust it, mate.
Four simple sentiments surrounded by absolute chaos.
There is something rather wonderful about that.
Because life doesn't suddenly become neat when you find peace.
The noise doesn't necessarily disappear. The past isn't erased. Everything that came before remains part of the picture.
You simply learn to see it differently.
And that's what this piece has come to mean to me.
I don't look at it and see perfection.
I see progression.
I see somebody moving from one chapter of their life into another without pretending the earlier chapters never happened.
All of those marks are still there.
The darkness is still there.
The chaos is still there.
But now, amongst it all, there is something else.
Peace.
Perhaps that's one of the most powerful things about art.
It can capture a person at a particular moment without needing to explain everything that came before or everything that's going to happen next.
And years from now, when I look at this piece, I suspect those four little messages will still say everything they need to say.
SERENITY.
PEACE.
COOL.
TRUST IT, MATE.
Sometimes the destination isn't about escaping the chaos.
It's about finding peace within it.
There are times when you watch an artist's work change and you sense that something behind the work has changed too.
I remember seeing Arron creating this piece on Instagram.
Immediately, I thought it was brilliant.
But there was something different about it.
Much of Arron's earlier work had felt confrontational — layers of words, thoughts and emotions fighting for space amongst the colour. There was humour and energy, but there could also be darkness.
This felt like something else.
SERENITY.
PEACE.
COOL.
TRUST IT, MATE.
Amongst all the chaos, suddenly there seemed to be calm.
And knowing something of the journey Arron has publicly shared — his struggles with alcohol, recovery and later his baptism — I couldn't help seeing this work as the beginning of another chapter.
Not necessarily an ending.
More a release.
I followed the piece as Arron created it, but later saw it appear elsewhere online and assumed somebody had bought it.
Another one I'd missed.
So I put it out of my mind.
Then, some time later, I finally visited Arron's studio.
And there it was.
Still hanging on the wall.
Alongside it was Mary, its companion piece.
I genuinely couldn't believe it was still available.
I tried very hard to contain my enthusiasm.
Probably not particularly successfully.
And eventually, it came home with me.
Today it hangs on my wall, and the more I look at it, the more I think the words are what make the piece extraordinary.
Look past the explosion of pinks, blues, reds and greens. Look past the portrait, the drips and the graffiti.
There are these little messages emerging from the noise.
Serenity.
Peace.
Cool.
And, perhaps my favourite:
Trust it, mate.
Four simple sentiments surrounded by absolute chaos.
There is something rather wonderful about that.
Because life doesn't suddenly become neat when you find peace.
The noise doesn't necessarily disappear. The past isn't erased. Everything that came before remains part of the picture.
You simply learn to see it differently.
And that's what this piece has come to mean to me.
I don't look at it and see perfection.
I see progression.
I see somebody moving from one chapter of their life into another without pretending the earlier chapters never happened.
All of those marks are still there.
The darkness is still there.
The chaos is still there.
But now, amongst it all, there is something else.
Peace.
Perhaps that's one of the most powerful things about art.
It can capture a person at a particular moment without needing to explain everything that came before or everything that's going to happen next.
And years from now, when I look at this piece, I suspect those four little messages will still say everything they need to say.
SERENITY.
PEACE.
COOL.
TRUST IT, MATE.
Sometimes the destination isn't about escaping the chaos.
It's about finding peace within it.
