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"The Boy and the Heron" Unveiling

A few months later, the Geography Department held an unveiling for The Boy and the Heron. Staff and students came to see it, and I remember standing there, taking it in. Something I’d painted during a season of complete confusion was now hanging permanently on a university wall. It was surreal.

What amazed me most was how people described the piece. They said it looked like a storm. Some said they saw a forest. Others said it felt like war or peace or both at once. People who had never seen the movie were describing scenes and emotions that matched the story of The Boy and the Heron. And that blew my mind.

I hadn’t painted any of that intentionally. I wasn’t trying to replicate the film. I just painted how I felt — lost, searching, hopeful — and somehow those emotions came through. It was one of those moments where I realised the work had a life of its own. It wasn’t me forcing anything; it was something flowing through me.

That’s when I knew it wasn’t just about art. It was about God working through me, guiding my hand even when I didn’t see it. The way people connected to that painting confirmed that it wasn’t random. What I was putting into the work — the confusion, the faith, the trying — people were seeing it.

That unveiling wasn’t just about a painting being hung. It was about seeing how faith turns uncertainty into direction. I had just graduated, felt lost, had no plan, and had been rejected by job after job, but still, something was being built in the background.

It reminded me that even when you have no clue what’s happening, there’s still purpose in the process. You might not see it in the moment, but you’ll look back and realise every small step was leading somewhere.