Sehnsuchtsort: The Landscapes We Carry in Our Hearts

There are places we leave behind physically, yet never quite depart from emotionally. Landscapes that remain with us — not as postcards, but as sensations. Some years ago, I was introduced to the word Sehnsuchtsort by a client who was explaining how my landscape work affected her. It’s a German word that loosely translates to the place your heart longs for.

I recognised the feeling immediately.

I grew up on Cape Town’s Atlantic Seaboard, an existence tightly framed by sea and mountain. Later in life, I came to split my time between the West Coast and the Overberg, landscapes that feel quieter, broader, and deeply grounding in different ways. My connection to place began early — shaped less by art and more by observation.

My family was not especially arty, but my father had a profound relationship with the land. Family holidays almost always involved road trips, and I remember how he would come alive as we travelled — constantly pointing things out, slowing down, noticing details. He was palpably different from his workaday self: more animated, more curious, more himself.

Many of our family stories still revolve around those journeys. The time we drove through the Karoo and saw sheep grazing with snow on their backs. Lifting sheets of ice from puddles at the side of the road in Golden Gate. The moment the first glimpse of the sea appeared on the Garden Route, just before Mossel Bay — that unmistakable shift in light and air that signals arrival.

Those moments stayed with me. Not as dramatic events, but as quiet markers of wonder.

Landscape painting, for me, is a continuation of that way of seeing. It is not about documenting a place exactly as it is, but about holding onto how it felt — the texture, the light, the pause. Painting has become a way of returning, again and again, to the landscapes that have shaped me, whether I still live among them or not.

My work begins with original paintings — usually swift, yet considered, explorations of landscape, colour, and light. Every so often, I translate these paintings into objects that can be lived with more easily. I understand that not everyone has the space, or the inclination, to hang original work. I also deeply appreciate the quiet pleasure of using something functional that carries beauty and meaning — objects that quietly evoke a place, a memory, or a person.

And what greater gift than to create that experience for others? A tea towel gifted to someone who misses home. A velvet cushion that adds warmth and texture, engaging more than just the eye. These pieces allow art to move beyond the wall and into daily life.

Of all the products I create from my paintings, the one where I hold the idea of Sehnsuchtsort most closely in mind is my annual Landscapes Calendar. It brings together twelve original works, one for each month, and is intended as something to live with over time — a recurring invitation to reconnect with a place that matters. I love the idea that as each month passes, the image can be removed and kept, allowing the work to continue beyond the calendar itself.

Whether your Sehnsuchtsort is a coastline, a mountain pass, a long stretch of open road, or simply a particular quality of light you once knew, my hope is that these landscapes offer recognition. A quiet reminder of where you’ve been — and perhaps, where part of you still resides.

You can explore the Landscapes 2026 Calendar and other works that grow from this same intention in my shop.