Snow has a funny way of rearranging the visual hierarchy of a place. It simplifies things. Shapes get quieter; the world gets quieter.
It’s no accident that painters who live up north paint snow. Or that painters who live down here tend to paint marshes, beaches, tidal creeks, and flat horizons that stretch forever. Artists paint where they are—not just geographically, but seasonally, culturally, emotionally. The land seeps in whether we intend it to or not.
All the paintings in this post are from Brett Scheifflee, who has lived in both SC and NY and is the only artist I can think of to ever have snow paintings in our gallery. I'm wondering now if they sold to people up north or northern transplants wanting a little piece of home.
In New England, snow is not a novelty. It’s a fact of life, a recurring condition that demands to be reckoned with again and again. Over time, it becomes a language. Painters learn how light sits on it, how blue it can be, how it holds shadow. The subject sticks around long enough to become nuanced.
Down here, we paint water and grasses and sky because they’re always present, always shifting. The marsh is never the same twice, but it’s always there. It teaches a different kind of looking—horizontal instead of vertical, humid instead of crisp, slow instead of stark.
Which is why last night felt a little magical.
It snowed in Charleston.
Not much. Just enough to dust rooftops, soften parked cars, quiet the streets for a while. Enough to make people stop what they were doing and step outside. Enough to make the familiar feel briefly foreign.
Snow here doesn’t get the chance to become a tradition. It arrives like a guest who doesn’t stay long, and everyone pays attention while it’s around. Kids lose their minds. Adults take photos they’ll never delete. The city collectively agrees to pause.
I’m curious to see how Charleston enjoys it today—how the light looks on pastel buildings, how palm trees wear a little white, how quickly it all disappears. There’s something revealing about seeing a place dressed in a different outfit.
Painters paint where they are. But every once in a while, where you are changes overnight. And for a brief moment, you get to see your home with fresh eyes.
