It Starts With Noticing

On time, attention, and the things that don't last.

For a long time I moved through life on autopilot, like most of us do at first.
Doing the right things.
Keeping up.
Moving quickly from one moment to the next, barely landing anywhere in between.

Everything looked fine from the outside. On the inside, something felt flat — like I was skimming the surface of my own life.

I didn't have words for it then. I just knew I was rushing past something important.

Then life interrupted.
Not gently.
Not all at once in a neat, cinematic way — but enough to make one thing unmistakably clear:

Our time here is limited.

Knowing a moment won't come back changes how you stand inside it.
It sharpens attention.
Slows you down.
Softens the heart.

I started noticing.

The more I paid attention to what was fleeting — light, seasons, moods —the more alive everything became:

A lake checking her reflection.
Frost arriving gently.
Winter tucking in summer’s leftovers for the long sleep.

These moments are fleeting, and that’s exactly what makes them precious.

This is not art to match the couch.
It's art that notices what most people walk past. 
Art that slows a room down.
Made of presence and wonder.

So if you ever find yourself looking at one of my paintings thinking
“That’s me… I’m the lake,”
—you’re in the right place.

Heidi Hjort
Contemporary artist based on the west coast of Finland, where the sea is close, the moss grows thick, and the light knows how to linger.