I received wonderful news from Mills Pond Gallery this week: my watercolor painting First Snow has been sold during their winter exhibition, Small but Mighty. The title of the exhibition has a special meaning for me. It celebrates artworks that may be modest in size, yet carry deep emotional resonance—pieces that speak quietly but powerfully. To have First Snow included in such a thoughtful show, and then to see it chosen by a viewer, is a moment of quiet gratitude I will remember for a long time.

First Snow is one of my more intuitive watercolor pieces. It was painted with soft washes, subtle transitions, and delicate splatters to evoke the feeling of a winter morning when the first snow begins to fall. Rather than focusing on realism, I aimed to capture the emotion of that moment—the stillness, the purity of cold air, and the gentle shift in light that signals a new season. The deer in the painting represents calm endurance, turning toward a soft glow that hints at renewal.

Exhibiting at Mills Pond Gallery has always been meaningful to me, but Small but Mighty felt especially fitting. The show highlights how a small work can hold a surprising impact, how a simple composition can still move someone deeply, and how watercolor—often dismissed as fragile—can express extraordinary strength. That is something I believe in wholeheartedly. Watercolor may appear soft, but it contains a kind of quiet resilience. It flows, resists control, surprises, and ultimately reveals truth through transparency. In that sense, it is both small and mighty.

When I create a painting, I work alone in my studio guided only by instinct and emotion. I never know who the final viewer will be, or whether the piece will resonate with someone else. So when a collector decides to bring one of my paintings home, it feels like a shared moment of understanding—an affirmation that what I tried to express gently reached another heart. First Snow is leaving my hands now, but I hope it brings peace and warmth to its new home, just as the first snow of winter softens the world.

I am deeply grateful to Mills Pond Gallery for curating such a beautiful exhibition, and to the person who chose to welcome my work into their life. Each milestone like this reminds me to keep painting, keep exploring, and keep trusting the quiet voice that guides my artistic journey.
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Thank you to everyone who continues to support my work and walk alongside me through moments big and small—each one, in its own way, mighty.

Today, I submitted my artwork for the annual Dickens Festival Art Show, one of the most anticipated events hosted by the Night Heron Watercolor Artists. Each year, this exhibition marks a meaningful moment for me—a time when months of steady work, quiet focus, and creative reflection finally come together in a place filled with warmth and holiday magic. It is never just about hanging paintings on a wall; it is about becoming part of a tradition that transforms our local community during the month of December. Once again, I am grateful to participate, and this year I will be exhibiting three pieces.

I began preparing for this show back in September. As summer faded into fall, I spent many weeks considering which direction to take, what stories I wanted my paintings to carry, and how the winter atmosphere might complement my style. After much thought, I chose two themes that have long been central to my artistic journey: my signature koi fish series and my interpretations of birch forests. These subjects have accompanied me for years—koi fish representing freedom, movement, and vivid life; birch forests embodying calmness, resilience, and time’s quiet passage. Imagining how these familiar themes could harmonize with the serene beauty of Christmas became an inspiring and rewarding process in itself.

The venue for the Dickens Festival undergoes a remarkable transformation every December. Garlands drape across railings, shimmering snowflakes hang from the ceiling, and rows of Christmas trees stand illuminated by soft lights. During the day, natural sunlight filters through the large windows and gives the space a peaceful glow. By evening, the lights and decorations turn the entire building into something that feels like a winter village. Artworks displayed in this magical setting do not simply hang on the wall—they become part of the holiday scenery. Paintings nestled between the trees and ornaments shine like small jewels, inviting visitors to pause and look closer.

I wanted my work to blend naturally into that atmosphere while still carrying my own creative voice. The koi fish, swimming through deep blue water, add warmth and vitality to the cool winter palette. The birch forest piece, with its gentle pastels and textured strokes, evokes a quiet winter landscape—a moment of stillness that many people associate with the season. Though each piece has a distinct character, together they form a collection that speaks to both movement and calm, energy and reflection. Seeing them placed within the Christmas décor made the themes feel unexpectedly harmonious.

Submitting artwork is always a moment filled with both nervousness and excitement. Each piece holds hours of effort, layers of emotion, and countless decisions—down to the smallest brushstroke. Standing before the works as I dropped them off today, I felt both humble and grateful. When a space is decorated so beautifully, I find myself hoping that my paintings will resonate with someone who walks by, that they will become part of a visitor’s memory of this holiday season. That possibility alone is enough to make the long preparation worthwhile.

This year, the experience feels even more meaningful. As I managed multiple projects over the past months, I promised myself that this show would receive my full attention and care. These paintings became a personal way to close the year—a gift to myself and a doorway to whatever comes next. Knowing that they will spend the month of December in a space transformed by community, tradition, and holiday spirit brings me a quiet sense of fulfillment.
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The Dickens Festival Art Show is more than an exhibition; it is a cherished part of our town’s winter landscape. Visitors come not only for the decorations but also to enjoy the diverse works created by local artists. I am truly honored to be part of that collective expression. As my paintings settle into their places among the Christmas trees and greenery, I hope they bring a moment of beauty to someone’s day and shine gently within the magic of the season. And as I look ahead, I carry the energy of this experience with me, eager for what the next chapter of my creative journey will bring.
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The below post offers a detailed introduction to the three artworks I prepared for this year’s Dickens Festival Exhibition. Each piece reflects themes I have explored throughout the year, including the fluid motion of koi fish and the quiet elegance of winter forests. I describe the inspiration, process, and meaning behind each work, sharing how these paintings came together during months of preparation leading up to the holiday season.

The article also explains how these pieces fit into the festive atmosphere of the Port Jefferson Village Center, where the exhibition transforms the space with Christmas trees, garlands, and sparkling winter decorations. Through this post, readers can learn not only about the paintings themselves but also about the environment in which they are displayed and the emotions and intentions that guided their creation.

https://www.annakoh.com/blog/three-winter-works-for-the-dickens-festival-exhibition

Exhibition Period
November 20 – End of December
(Artwork will be on display throughout the entire holiday season.)

Location
Port Jefferson Village Center, 2nd Floor
101-A East Broadway, Port Jefferson, NY 11777

Admission
Free and open to the public

Map
Visitors can easily find the venue at the Port Jefferson Harbor waterfront.
Google Maps link:

Here we go~

The exhibition will be on view from November 20 through the end of December at the Port Jefferson Village Center, 2nd Floor, a beautiful space overlooking the harbor. During this period, visitors can walk through the building’s holiday decorations, enjoy the Christmas trees, and explore the artwork freely. Admission is completely free, making it a welcoming seasonal destination for families, neighbors, and anyone spending time in the village. The Village Center is conveniently located at 101-A East Broadway, Port Jefferson, NY, and can be easily found on the map here:
https://maps.app.goo.gl/N6FQG7AJjX5vWLBK8

These links are records from my previous participation in the Dickens Festival Art Show. They include the artwork I exhibited that year, along with photos and reflections from the event:​

www.annakoh.com/blog/winter-inspirations-with-a-festive-dickens-exhibit

https://www.annakoh.com/blog/the-winter-art-show-with-the-night-heron-in-port-jefferson-gallery​

My thought

There is no such thing as a meaningless moment, and in the same way, there is no such thing as a meaningless exhibition. Every show, every display, every encounter holds a value that reveals itself in its own time. The Port Jefferson Village Center—where the Dickens Festival exhibition is held—is an especially meaningful place for me. Located right in front of the beautiful Port Jefferson Harbor, the gallery welcomes countless visitors each season, including many travelers who discover the artwork while exploring the village. Its openness and accessibility make it one of the most vibrant cultural spaces in the area.

One of the most charming aspects of exhibiting here is that the visitors take photographs of the displayed artworks and kindly send them to the artists via email. It is a small gesture, but it speaks to their respect for creators and their commitment to celebrating local art. These photographs often become treasured records—snapshots of a particular moment in my artistic journey, preserved before the pieces return home or find new owners.

A memorable experience from a previous year still stays with me. A visitor had taken a photograph of one of my koi fish paintings during the exhibition. Months later, that same person came to see me at an outdoor art show, holding the photo on their phone. They wanted to make sure the painting was mine. The moment they confirmed it, they purchased my work without hesitation. They told me they had kept the image all that time because the painting stayed in their mind, and they hoped to find the artist someday. Encounters like this remind me how art can quietly make its way into someone’s heart long before I ever meet them.

Moments like these are the reason I continue creating with sincerity. When I meet art lovers with such clear and genuine eyes—people who seek out beauty, connection, and meaning—it inspires me to work even harder and to give my best in every brushstroke. My paintings are not just objects; they are opportunities for connection, invitations for someone to pause, feel, and remember.
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As I prepare for this year’s exhibition, I carry that memory with me. I cannot help but wonder what new encounters or unexpected opportunities might unfold. Art has a way of creating its own path, weaving small miracles through ordinary days. With a hopeful and excited heart, I look forward to seeing what stories this December will bring.

This winter, I am delighted to share that three of my artworks will be featured in the Night Heron Watercolor Artists Group’s special winter exhibition at the Dickens Festival. This annual event is a cherished tradition in our community, bringing together literature, seasonal atmosphere, and local artists in a warm and festive celebration. Each of the three pieces I am presenting reflects a different mood of nature and the quiet beauty that winter often reveals.

​The first piece, “Koi Fish in Christmas” (Acrylic), is part of my ongoing koi fish series. In this work, I explored the sense of life and quiet warmth hidden beneath the cold surface of winter. Even in the chill of the season, the koi continue to glide gently through the water, reminding us that vitality and hope remain alive. Using layered acrylic textures and reflective tones, I aimed to capture the stillness of a winter pond touched by soft holiday light. Rather than depicting the bright energy of Christmas, the painting focuses on the calm, introspective side of the season.

​The second work, “Happy Hibernation” (Watercolors), is inspired by the natural cycle of rest. Winter gives us a rare moment to pause, breathe, and gather strength before spring returns. Through the gentle spread of watercolors and warm, muted tones, I wanted to express that quiet comfort—like a soft blanket of snow that protects rather than hides. This piece carries a message of restoration, and I hope viewers will feel a sense of calm and warmth when they encounter it at the exhibition.

​The third piece, “A Brilliant Birch Morning” (Acrylic), captures the clarity of morning light passing through a birch forest. Winter mornings have a unique stillness, almost as if time itself slows down. The slender birch trunks and soft glow create a moment suspended between light and silence. Using acrylic’s ability to create both fine detail and atmospheric depth, I sought to express the balance and serenity found within the quiet winter forest.

The Dickens Festival exhibition is more than a display of artwork—it is a gathering place where community, creativity, and seasonal spirit meet. As a member of the Night Heron Watercolor Artists Group, I am grateful for the opportunity to share my work alongside fellow artists who continue to inspire me throughout the year. I hope that visitors will pause, even briefly, to take in the peaceful emotions these pieces carry, and that the exhibition will add a meaningful touch of beauty to the winter season.

I am delighted to share that my painting “Koi Fish in Motion” found its new home at Gallery North’s holiday exhibition, Deck the Halls. Each time a work sells, what moves me most is not the transaction itself but the knowledge that the piece will continue its life elsewhere, carrying its energy into a new space. This painting is part of my ongoing koi series, yet it also represents a small but meaningful experiment—one that, thankfully, resonated.

My signature works are usually painted on long, expansive canvases. I love the way elongated surfaces allow koi to glide, stretch, and breathe, creating the illusion of endless movement. But for the holiday season, I decided to try something different: a small 11 x 14–inch canvas. I wondered how the koi would move within such a compact frame, and whether the intensity of motion and color could still be conveyed. To my surprise, the smaller space delivered a beautifully concentrated sense of vitality—almost like catching a fleeting moment in a clear pool.

One thing has remained constant over the years: my koi paintings have never failed to sell. It became a running joke among my friends that I am, in a way, a fish seller. But inside that joke is something true—these paintings are not just pictures of fish. People connect to them because they carry the feeling of life itself. To “sell a fish” in my world means to share a piece of movement, a pulse of energy, something quietly alive.

In the early days, I simply enjoyed painting koi because it felt light, fluid, and joyful. But this year, after surviving a long and difficult period of burnout, I asked myself what art truly gives to the human spirit. In that moment of reflection—when I tried to recall the first image that sparked inspiration again—the koi returned to me, clear as water. They were my beginning, and they became my way back. I decided to return to koi not out of habit but out of recognition: they symbolize resilience, continuity, and the quiet strength of living things.

I love these paintings because they are loved in every season, but also because they help me express my deepest desire: to honor the beauty and vitality of everything that lives. I hope that somewhere along the way, someone will understand how much I want to share that joy. So I paint every day—again and again—because painting brings me back to life.

When I heard that Koi Fish in Motion had found its true owner, gratitude washed over me. Only someone who understands what art really is—what it breathes, what it gives—chooses a piece like this. My earnest wish is that this painting brings liveliness, comfort, and renewed energy to its new home. That is the most beautiful role art can play, and it is everything I hope for when I send a painting out into the world.
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A painting begins a new journey the moment it leaves the studio. As I watch this one depart, I am filled once again with quiet appreciation. May Koi Fish in Motion create new ripples of life wherever it goes, and may it continue to swim freely in the currents of its next chapter.

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During our summer vacation, we walked along a quiet beach in Florida. There, I noticed three pigeons resting together on the sand. They seemed alert, each gazing in a different direction with sharp, watchful eyes, yet the sunlight pouring down on their heads shimmered with warmth and peace. I felt almost entranced and instinctively took a photograph. Afraid that the moment would fade, I hurried to paint the scene in watercolor. Strangely, the image felt more vivid in paint than it ever did in the photo.

It was a sunny afternoon without any urgent tasks, plans, or worries. Like those three pigeons resting lazily in the light, the simplicity of that moment felt precious. I realized how exhausted I had been—by competition, by society’s constant demands, by the pressure to keep up. We all long to rest under the sunlight like those pigeons, but life often denies us even that small luxury. Perhaps that’s why their peace struck me so deeply. I thought of the biblical words about how even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like the lilies of the field.

As an artist, I am grateful that I can translate such feelings—joy, warmth, and beauty—onto paper. The pigeons have long since flown away; no one could ever recreate that exact scene or mood again. But I have preserved that moment in paint, and through it, I can revisit the serenity I felt.

If someone were to ask me what makes a painting truly good, I would answer this: When you can immediately feel something upon seeing it. Most people stop at saying, “Wow, that’s really well done,” but art is not just about technical perfection. When I painted this piece, I deliberately let go of control. I didn’t aim for flawless realism. The pigeons themselves weren’t particularly beautiful—dark, almost crow-like—but to me, they radiated grace, charisma, and quiet confidence. That was beauty enough.

We all wish to be peacocks—creatures dazzling by nature, admired without effort. But ordinary beings, like those pigeons, possess their own quiet power. Capturing that kind of humble beauty gives me deep fulfillment as an artist. This painting may not stand out in a competition or exhibition. It lacks the bold reds, blues, and purples, the dramatic compositions, or the glittering highlights that win attention. It is utterly simple. And yet, that is its strength.

To make an ordinary scene beautiful requires something greater than skill—it requires sincerity. I painted not to impress, but to share a feeling. I hoped that whoever sees it might sense the same sunlight I saw that day and feel grateful for the moment they are living in.
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As an artist, my dream is to paint something that shines brighter than a jewel—a picture so beautiful that one would rather own it than any gem. But when I encounter the quiet beauty of ordinary life, I feel compelled to paint it all—the sunlight, the stillness, the fleeting peace. My exploration of the beauty in the everyday will continue. For in the simplest moments, I find the most profound truth: that even the ordinary can be divine.