The Apple Laundry

The laundry at Gran’s house was more than a place for washing—it was a treasure chest of school holiday memories. Every visit started with a stop in the mountains to load up on cases of crisp, fresh apples. Those apples would sit in the laundry, their coolness preserved by the room’s shaded light and tiled floors.

I can still smell their sweetness mingled with the earthy scent of Gran’s potted plants, the hum of the washing machine always in the background. This painting captures that sunlit corner where practicality met a hint of magic, a snapshot of simpler times.