The Other Side of the Monument: A Return to Raw Art
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25 days offline, a beachside studio, and a monument seen from a whole new angle.
Let me paint you a picture.
The sky is folding into oranges and purples. The waves aren’t far — close enough that I can hear them, steady and soft. I’m sitting on a tiny chair (yes, really), knees creaking like an old easel, surrounded by Polaroids clipped to the frame of my current canvas.
And in front of me?
The Washington Monument.
But not the one you’re thinking of.
This version is rare.
You don’t see it on postcards.
This is the view from the other side — the quiet side. The one that faces north, across grass and toward the open.
That choice — to paint it from a less-seen angle — felt symbolic. Because this piece, and this whole chapter of life, is about returning to what feels real.
🌿 Pressing Pause
About a month ago, I had a moment.
I realized I didn’t know if I was painting for me…
or for the algorithm.
So I walked away.
No announcement. No drama. Just gone.
For 25 days, I unplugged from every social media platform. I didn’t post. I didn’t scroll. I didn’t check messages.
I went quiet.
And inside that quiet, I found something I'd been missing.
Myself.
And my brush.
🎨 How It Changed My Work
Without constant feedback, I had to trust my own eye again.
There was no “What did they think of that last one?”
No trending audio to fit into.
No pressure to perform.
I painted slowly.
Privately.
Layer by layer.
Sometimes in silence, sometimes with the ocean breeze as my only soundtrack.
The canvas began to breathe again.
That’s where this Washington Monument piece was born — not from hype, but from stillness. I wanted to capture it honestly, imperfectly. The sky in my version? It won’t be flat and photoreal. It’ll be velvety, almost turbulent. The colors? Wild. Too much. Just enough.
Like how a memory feels.
📸 Polaroids, Timber, and a Very Small Chair
I’m working on New Zealand timber now, primed with transparent gesso so the natural wood grain still peeks through. The surface feels raw — like the art should feel.
Around the canvas, I’ve taped Polaroids. Not digital prints. Actual Polaroids. I’d love to tell you it’s because I’m super analog and retro-chic, but honestly? I just can’t get printers to behave.
So here we are: me, a bunch of instant photos, and a monument that most people overlook from this side.
I’m also sitting in a tiny baby chair because full-sized chairs don’t let me get low enough for the kind of painting I’m doing. If you’re over thirty and trying to paint on your knees, you know what I’m talking about. Comfort is a luxury.
🧵 Polyester’s Out, Linen’s In
While I was reassessing how I painted, I realized something else: my materials had evolved, but my wardrobe hadn’t.
There I was, talking endlessly about natural pigments, raw surfaces, archival varnishes — and wearing 100% polyester. It smelled synthetic. It felt synthetic. And honestly? It didn’t fit the mood.
So, I donated most of my clothes and switched to linen and cotton. Now, what I wear reflects what I create: breathable, textured, imperfectly beautiful.
Small changes, big impact.
🌊 Home by the Sea
We’ve left the city.
Now, I paint from a beachside rental.
Shelby surfs a few steps from the door.
Cooper naps inside.
And when she wakes up, she waves through the window — a clumsy little wave, but pure magic all the same.
This is our season of life: slower, simpler, and much closer to what matters.
Even the chaos has charm. Wind knocks things over. The sea makes background noise. Sometimes my linen shirt acts like a sail. But all of it feels true.
And honestly? That’s the only direction I want to paint from now on.
🛠️ Materials, If You’re Curious:
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Surface: Locally-sourced NZ timber
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Primer: Transparent gesso (lets wood grain show through)
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Paint: Acrylic gouache for max color saturation
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Finish: Satin varnish — because skies deserve shine
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References: Polaroids (because my printer gave up)
🤳 So... Am I Back Online?
Sort of.
Carefully.
I’m re-entering social media with more intention — less addiction. No more late-night scrolling or chasing trends.
This isn’t a sprint. It’s a conversation.
So if you messaged me while I was gone: I’m sorry I missed you. I’ll reply when I can. I’m still catching up — slowly, thoughtfully, one message at a time.
And if you’re an artist, a creative, or just someone feeling a little burnt out?
Here’s your reminder:
You don’t owe anyone your constant availability.
Sometimes, art needs silence.
Sometimes you do.
Take your 25 days.
Unplug.
Paint the other side of the monument.
💌 Want to See This Piece When It’s Done?
Join my [mailing list] or follow me on Instagram @sebgowerart.
Better yet, write me an actual email. I’d love to hear how you’re slowing down.
Until then — stay wild, stay thoughtful,
and paint like the world is finally quiet.