I'M NOT GIVING UP YET

Radical optimism (or something like it)

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about hope. Not the loud, shiny kind. Not the kind that tries to convince you everything is okay.

Something quieter than that.

If I’m honest, things have felt a bit heavy for a while now. Personally, and just… in the world in general. And I know I’m not alone in that.

It can feel like even talking about hope comes with a disclaimer. Like we have to be careful not to be naive, or unrealistic, or — worse — “toxically positive.”

And I understand that. There’s a lot that isn’t okay.

But I’ve also been wondering if there’s space for something else alongside that.

Not blind optimism.Not ignoring what’s hard.

But a kind of radical optimism —the quiet decision to still believe in something good, even when things feel uncertain.

---

Recently, I’ve been really moved by This Music May Contain Hope by RAYE.

Have you listened yet? For me it feels like one of 'those' albums that happen in your lifetime..the ones that you have to listen to in order because that is how they were created to be experienced and arrived at a time in your life that was needed.

There’s something about the way it holds everything at once —different seasons, different sounds, different emotions.

It doesn’t try to be one thing. It doesn’t tidy itself up.

There are moments that feel heavy, honest, unresolved…but there’s also care in it. And a sense — however subtle — that things can shift. And that hope is possible.

That’s what stayed with me.

---

I realised it’s something I’ve been circling in my own work for a while now.

The idea that things don’t have to be clearly defined. That you don’t have to choose one version of yourself.

That the messy, the uncertain, the softer parts — they all belong.

And maybe hope lives somewhere in there too.

Not as a solution. But as a thread.

---

When I paint, I’m not trying to create something perfect or resolved.

I’m thinking about layers. About the way things sit together — structure and freedom, light and shadow, tension and calm.

About creating something that can just be with you.

In your home.

In your everyday life.

Something that doesn’t demand attention…but quietly holds space.

---

I think that’s what I’m moving toward.

Not work that tells you everything will be okay.

But work that sits with you while you figure things out.

Work that allows for both —the heaviness, and the possibility of something softer alongside it.

Maybe that’s what radical optimism looks like for me.

Not loud. Not certain.

Just… choosing not to give up on things entirely.