Medium: Acrylics brush painted on canvas
Dimensions: 59” x 39”

A Recipe for Peace is a reflection on the slow, deliberate journey toward harmony, acknowledging that true peace is not the absence of hate and fear, but the ability to carry them in a way that does not consume us.

The snail, a creature of patience and persistence, becomes the central metaphor. Its shell—marked with the words Hope, Love, and Hate—reminds us that all these forces exist within us. Hate and fear cannot simply be erased; they are part of the human experience. But like the spiral of the shell, they can be carried without defining the path forward.

From a quantum perspective, this piece speaks to the idea of duality and superposition. Just as light is both a particle and a wave, peace exists in a delicate balance between opposing forces. It is not a singular state, but a spectrum of possibilities. The presence of hate does not negate love, just as darkness does not erase light—they coexist, shaping the reality we observe.

The contrast between the raw, monochromatic realism of the snail and the bold graffiti-like lettering suggests the tension between instinct and intention. Hate, often viewed as an obstacle to peace, is not hidden but acknowledged—painted into the structure itself. Love and hope take centre stage, yet they do not erase the presence of struggle; rather, they exist in superposition with it, waiting for human action to determine which will take precedence.

The pink splashes across the canvas act as both punctuation and possibility. Are they remnants of conflict, or are they the marks of transformation—evidence of a recipe still in progress? Like the quantum observer effect, where measurement determines an outcome, perhaps peace itself is influenced by our perception and choices.

At its core, A Recipe for Peace suggests that peace is not found in denial but in balance. We do not achieve peace by pretending hatred and fear do not exist, but by learning to carry them without letting them dictate our actions. Just as the snail moves forward despite its weight, so too must humanity—embracing love and hope, while acknowledging the burdens we bear. In this way, peace, much like quantum reality, is shaped not just by what exists, but by how we choose to see and engage with it.

Collection Overview

 In this collection, Sam Art weaves a visual language of wonder, tension, and quiet rebellion—where children perch on flamingos, snails bear the burden of paradox, and sunflowers dare to breach their borders. At first glance, these works are playful, almost dreamlike. But look again, and you’ll find something deeper humming beneath the surface: a meditation on perception, duality, and the fragile nature of peace—both personal and collective.

The theme that binds these works is the space between—between conflict and calm, reality and imagination, observation and existence. Through recurring contrasts of monochrome and vivid colour, structured boundaries and organic escape, each painting explores how reality is shaped not just by what is, but by how we see. This idea, borrowed from quantum physics, becomes a metaphor for emotional truth: that peace, hope, and even identity are not fixed destinations, but shimmering possibilities, waiting to collapse into form through attention and intention.

 “Wishful Peaceful” and “A Recipe for Peace” ground the series in emotional and geopolitical reality. They acknowledge the weight of conflict, yet suggest that peace is a particle of potential—a fleeting moment that must be chosen again and again.

 “Balancing the Dream” and “Probability Cloud” lift the viewer into a more surreal dimension, where childhood becomes the observer that determines reality. These paintings don’t just represent innocence—they reframe it as a powerful, quantum force capable of creating worlds.

 “When the Frame Forgot to Hold Us” completes the arc with a subtle rebellion against limitation itself. It questions the very nature of framing—of categorizing, labeling, containing. Here, life pushes out of bounds, not in violence, but in joy.

Together, these works suggest that peace is not just a political ideal, but a perceptual one. That imagination is not the opposite of reality, but a tool for reshaping it. And that within each of us lives a kind of observer—quiet, curious, and capable of collapsing the infinite into something beautifully real.