Last March, I received a message that genuinely stopped me mid-painting.
A representative from the Salvation Army UK had been in touch to tell me that a watercolour daffodil I had painted — a quiet, sunlit study of a single stem catching the early spring light — had been selected for their 2026 Easter card campaign.
Six hundred thousand cards. Sent to supporters, churches, and communities right across the United Kingdom.
'We were looking for something warm, uplifting, and genuinely hopeful. Your daffodil had all of that. It felt like spring arriving.'
I sat with that for a long time.
Why a Daffodil?
Daffodils have always felt significant to me. They are one of the first things to push through after the cold — they arrive before you expect them, quietly confident, asking nothing in return. There is something about that early emergence that feels important when you live with ADHD.
Some days are long and grey and the momentum just is not there. And then something small appears — a shaft of light through cloud, a daffodil in the garden — and you are reminded that the season does turn. Things do move forward.
That is what I was painting. Not just a flower. A feeling.
The Painting Process
The daffodil study was painted on 300gsm Saunders Waterford cold-press paper using a limited palette — yellow ochre, cadmium yellow, a touch of raw sienna for the trumpet, and French ultramarine for the deep shadow passages. I worked wet-on-wet for the petals, letting the colour bloom outward and find its own edges. The background is a soft, diffused wash — cool greens and grey-blues that push the warm yellow forward without competing.
The whole painting took about forty minutes from first wet brush to final dry edge. That is the thing about daffodils — they reward the painter who works quickly and does not over-control. Hesitate, and the spontaneity is gone.
On the Salvation Army Visit (March 19)
On March 19th, I met with the Salvation Army team at their South London office to see the finished cards in person and to talk about the project. I brought a few original prints of the daffodil and a small selection of my therapeutic watercolour work.
It feels right that a painting made to explore hope and resilience has found its way into an organisation built on exactly that. The Salvation Army do remarkable work — practical, compassionate, unglamorous work — and to have contributed something, however small, to their Easter message is genuinely meaningful to me.
What This Means for the Work
I have been asked whether this changes how I think about painting. Honestly, no — and yes.
No, because the process remains the same. I still sit down with a blank sheet of paper, a jar of clean water, and a set of brushes. The painting still has to earn its existence one mark at a time. National recognition does not change that.
Yes, because it is a reminder that the quietest, most personal work often travels furthest. I was not painting for Easter cards. I was painting a daffodil because I needed to paint something hopeful that morning. That honesty — that private intention — is apparently what people recognise.
Limited Prints Available
A small edition of giclée prints of the daffodil painting is now available in the shop. These are printed on museum-quality archival paper to the same standard used for the Salvation Army cards, and each is signed and numbered.
If you would like a print — or if you want to commission a similar study of a flower that means something to you — do get in touch. Commissions are open and I am taking a limited number of spring projects.
Thank you to the Salvation Army for giving this painting a life I could not have imagined for it. And thank you to everyone who has followed along here. Your encouragement is part of why the work keeps happening.
Simon
