Work in progress · Seattle Prize
Shape of us
Apr 2026
This portrait commission is a tribute to my mother and all of us, women. Reflecting and celebrating the four seasons that have shaped our life—bright, curious spring as a child; the bold, restless bloom of the teenage years; the generous, steady summer of motherhood; and the quiet, luminous autumn. Each layer of paint holds a fragment of story: the small girl learning to braid her own dreams; the teenager experimenting with style and self; the mother whose hands patiently braided her child’s hair weaving comfort, discipline, and love into every strand; and the elder whose touch has softened but whose presence remains deeply grounding. Together, these seasons form a single, continuous landscape—an offering of gratitude, reflection, and celebration of a woman’s life lived with resilience, creativity, and grace.
1 post and 2 photos from the studio, in the order Larine made them.
Follow the making ↓The process
From first sketch to finished painting.
First post · April 2, 2026
Work in progress update: Shape of us is a tribute to my mom and all of us, women. It celebrates and reflects on the four seasons that have shaped our life—bright, curious spring as a child; the bold, restless bloom of her teenage years; the generous, steady summer of motherhood; and the quiet, luminous autumn. Each layer of paint holds a fragment of a story belongs to my mom, me and all of us. The small girl cared for by her mom while learning to braid her own dreams; the teenager experimenting with style and self; the mother whose hands patiently braided her child’s hair weaving comfort, discipline, and love into every strand; and the elder whose touch has softened but whose presence remains deeply grounding. Together, these seasons form a single, continuous landscape—an offering of gratitude, reflection, and celebration of a woman’s life lived with resilience, creativity, and grace. I’m immersed in the Spring season of the portrait commission currently, the little girl is emerging slowly, almost shyly, as if stepping out from the soft edges of memory. I’m studying the way her hair falls, the way her fingers feel restless ready to try braiding her own dream, the way her gaze held both innocence and a quiet determination. As I paint, I’m also revisiting my own childhood, remembering the mornings when my mother braided my hair with patient, practiced fingers. In shaping this young version of her, I’m tracing the beginnings of the woman who would one day shape me—thread by thread, gesture by gesture. This stage feels like opening the first chapter of a story I’ve always known but am only now learning to see clearly.
