Acrylic on canvas

One of our Sun’s active regions has flared, and from that flare burst not one but two fire horses — a nod to the Chinese Year of the Fire Horse.

They leap out of the solar surface, born from plasma and light, as if the sun itself has thrown them toward Earth. It’s playful, symbolic, and a little bit prophetic: the flare comes from the very part of the sun most likely to send energy our way.

A metre‑square canvas felt essential for this piece. Years of fascination with the sun — its sunspots, looping magnetic structures, flares and CMEs, the auroras they create on Earth — have shaped how I see it. People often talk about the sun as if it’s “out there,” separate from us, when without it we wouldn’t be. Its cycles drive our weather, and its storms can shake and disrupt our carefully ‘built’ world.

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On the canvas, the top‑right limb of the sun fills the frame: the upper quarter, with looping magnetic arcs and active regions rendered in glowing yellows and oranges. It’s the part of the solar surface where flares and CMEs are most likely to be directed toward Earth — the region you watch if you’re tracking space weather.

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What emerges is both scientific and mythic. This is the sun as I understand it: not just a ball of gas, but a force, a personality, a creator of storms and auroras and life. It’s also the parent of another painting in this collection — Aurora Over St. Luke’s — because every aurora begins with the Sun, with solar storms like this one. And it’s a reminder that even in the most serious subjects, there’s room for humour, symbolism, and a little cosmic mischief.