When I paint cats, I don t want them to feel placed on top of a background. I want them to feel like they belong to a world world that holds them, hides them, and quietly tells you something about who they are.

For me, nature isn t decoration. It’s part of the story.

The main element: tall grass like waves

One of my favourite environmental elements to paint is tall grass arranged in a way that resembles waves. I keep coming back to it because it lets me do two things at once: hide one thing and reveal another.

I love how grass can become a kind of moving curtain. It can soften edges, obscure parts of the cat s body, and create that feeling of almost seeing. But it can also open up in just the right places a gap for an eye, a curve of a cheek, the line of a back so the cat is still present, still watching.

That balance is the point.

A quiet kind of power: hiding and observing

Cats have this natural ability to disappear while staying completely aware. They can be right there, in the middle of everything, and still feel untouchable. The tall grass helps me paint that mood.

In my head, the grass becomes a safe space a place where the cat can hide, but also observe without being seen. It creates a sense of privacy and control, like the cat is choosing what you re allowed to notice.

And I like that as a viewer experience too. You re not handed the whole image at once. You re invited to look closer.

Colour: intertwined greens, blues, and ochre

Colour does a lot of emotional work in these paintings.

I often use intertwined hues of green, blue, and ochre through the grass to create movement and depth. Green gives me the natural base, blue brings in cool shadow and a slightly dreamlike tone, and ochre adds warmth like late summer light, dried stems, or the memory of sun.

When those colours weave together, the grass stops being a flat field and starts feeling like a living surface. It becomes a sea you can almost hear.

Composition: framing the cat without trapping it

Even when the cat is the focal point, I don t want the composition to feel obvious. I prefer a quieter kind of guidance something that leads your eye without shouting.

The grass helps because it naturally creates directional flow. I can bend it, layer it, and repeat shapes so the viewer s gaze moves like a current toward the cat s face, then away again, then back.

It s a gentle rhythm.

Poppies, sunflowers, and dandelions: breaking the stillness

To complete the composition, I often add other elements like poppy flowers, sunflowers, and dandelions. I place them strategically for a few reasons.

First, they help frame the cat and guide the eye. A bright flower can act like a visual signpost it pulls your attention, then points you toward what matters.

Second, they break the monotony of the grass. A sea of green can be calming, but it can also become too uniform. The flowers interrupt that smoothness in a way that feels intentional.

And finally, they disturb the stillness.

I like that contrast: the quiet, wave-like grass as a steady backdrop, and then a pop of colour or a soft dandelion head that adds a moment of surprise. It makes the scene feel lived-in, like something is happening just outside the frame.

Why I keep returning to these elements

I think I return to tall grass, layered colour, and carefully placed flowers because they let me paint what I love most about cats: their calm presence, their hidden intensity, and their ability to be both soft and untouchable.

Nature gives me a visual language for that.

It’s not just cat in a field. It’s a cat in a world that moves.

If you’ve noticed this in my work, I d love to know: do you prefer cats painted in bold, graphic settings or in softer, nature-filled worlds like this?

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