A harbour can be busy even when every boat is tied up. Ana gives this waterfront scene its energy through the curve of the boardwalk, which carries the eye past the moored boats and towards a small stone bridge. The close-packed boats seem ready to be untied, while the lamps and painted buildings suggest a promenade meant for walking and lingering.

The bold outlines and cheerful colour make the scene feel slightly theatrical. Scale and perspective are handled freely, giving the harbour the character of a remembered place rather than a strictly measured view. What holds it together is the movement of the shoreline: the boats, walkway and bridge all follow the same bend around the blue water.

The aqueduct brings a deliberate human order to a wooded riverbank. Its repeated arches make a long, steady line across the picture, but the trees and uneven ground refuse that regularity. A bare trunk leans towards the structure; branches, stones and patches of autumn colour interrupt its geometry.

Alice allows the aqueduct to remain part of the landscape rather than treating it as an isolated monument. The river continues below, and the surrounding woods have grown into the scene. The painting's interest lies in that coexistence: a carefully built passage set among forms shaped by water, weather and growth. The soft, broad treatment of the distant hills makes the arches seem particularly firm, even as the natural setting dominates the foreground.

These summer flowers crowd together like blooms at the height of the season, with little room left between them. The central golden flower overlaps larger white, lavender and orange blossoms, while flashes of red appear behind them. No single bloom is given exclusive attention; their variety is the point.

Alice has kept the arrangement loose, allowing the petals to press against one another and change direction. That abundance gives the painting a garden-like character, although the dark background removes the flowers from any specific setting. They are held at the moment when a summer arrangement feels almost too full for its frame. Small patches of cool blue and violet help the warmer flowers retain their individual shapes within the crowd.

In this large floral painting, Ana works with the rhythms of a whole bouquet rather than a single perfect blossom. Sunflower-like yellow heads spread out on either side of a broad red flower; small white daisies break up their scale and connect the larger forms. The arrangement is dense enough that flowers disappear behind other flowers.

The title suits the way the painting is put together. Different shapes seem to answer one another across the surface: dark centres, open petals, small white accents and wide leaves. Its generous size lets those relationships unfold gradually. The strongest impression is of an arrangement still settling into place, lively and informal despite the ornate frame around it.

This Venetian-style street has the easy logic of a picture-book town. Houses lean into the narrow space beside a canal, a short arched bridge joins the banks, and a tall orange tower rises well above the roofs. The exaggeration of that tower gives the small settlement an unmistakable centre.

The architecture is painted in broad blocks with dark, assertive outlines. Red tiles, green doors and two golden lamps help distinguish the buildings, but strict perspective is less important here than the pleasure of their closeness. The bridge seems to draw the neighbourhood together. It is a playful view of the kind of European waterside streets where one turn can reveal an unexpectedly different building or a small crossing over the water.

Winter Fun catches tobogganing at its least orderly. Children and sleds tip at unlikely angles as snow rushes across the hill; one figure throws out an arm while another appears to bounce through the turn. The scene is funny because no one looks entirely in control of the descent.

Thick passages of pale paint give the snow a churned-up surface, crossed by reds, oranges and greens that keep the children visible amid the commotion. Alice makes the hill seem steeper by setting its movement diagonally across the canvas. It is an affectionate picture of an ordinary winter pastime, especially the split second when a sled gathers speed and the ride becomes more exciting than expected.

In this Algonquin landscape, the river makes a dark boundary between the wooded bank and the viewer. Across it, warm orange rocks catch the light beneath a dense stand of trees. The forest feels close and difficult to see through, a familiar quality of the rocky shorelines of Ontario's Canadian Shield.

Alice gives the water a restless surface of blues and deep violets. The bright boulders appear almost to hover above it, while the narrow tree trunks lead the eye into a tangle of green. The scene does not depend on a grand distant vista. Its appeal is more immediate: the feeling of being near the water, looking across to a shoreline where exposed rock and thick forest meet.

A bowl of fruit and a length of blue cloth become an exercise in weight, texture and everyday colour. The bowl appears solid and roughly surfaced; the fruit has a softer, rounded presence; the cloth folds and falls beyond the table's edge. Alice lets these ordinary things occupy the picture with the seriousness traditionally given to still-life subjects.

The red apple in front of the bowl is especially important. Its modest size and warm colour hold attention beside the deep blues, without disturbing the rest of the arrangement. The tabletop angles away into shadow, so the objects feel close enough to touch. The painting finds its character in the differences between things that are smooth, heavy, yielding or loosely draped.

Early spring often looks unfinished, and that in-between quality gives this shoreline its character. Thin tree trunks rise among exposed pinkish rocks; new green appears in scattered touches, but the forest has yet to become a continuous canopy. Water opens out at the right, offering space beyond the close-knit trees.

Alice resists making the season uniformly fresh or green. Weathered stone and older growth occupy much of the painting, with the first brighter colours worked through them. The result feels like a particular point in the year when the woods are changing visibly but gradually. The open water and pale sky give the crowded shore a welcome sense of air.

The trees in this winter scene are too large to fit neatly inside the painting. Their trunks rise out of the snowy ground and their heavy branches reach beyond the upper edge, making the viewer aware of their scale. One dark trunk stands almost like a wall; another catches orange light along its twisted surface.

Alice concentrates on the irregular growth of old trees, including branches that bend, divide and overlap. The winter setting exposes these shapes more clearly than a leafy season would. Snow has settled around the roots and between the trunks, but the trees remain the dominant presence. There is a satisfying sense of having come upon them at close range, where their size is experienced rather than simply observed from a distance.

A narrow creek cuts through the snow before the winter woods have entirely released their hold on the season. Water is visible in dark blue stretches, while the banks remain thick with pale snow and long coloured shadows. The creek's uneven course draws the eye between the trunks and into the trees.

The title suggests a changing season, and the painting makes that change tangible. Solid snow borders moving water; warm reddish bark rises out of a ground still marked by winter. Alice's lively handling keeps the creek from feeling frozen into a decorative pattern. It has begun to reclaim its route through the forest. The scene is quiet, but there is movement at its centre.

Alice turns the familiar image of a lunging shark into an unexpected movie-night joke. Its wide-open mouth and pointed teeth suggest danger, but inside are miniature snacks, including a striped popcorn container.

The open mouth is built as a recessed, three-dimensional space, with real sculptural snack objects set between the shark's teeth. The physical pieces stand out from the acrylic-painted shark and the bright yellow-orange background. The contrast between the threatening jaws and the movie snacks gives the work its humour.

The wave is caught at the moment just before its crest gives way. Its rising body is heavy with green and turquoise water, but the breaking edge has already begun to turn white and fall forward. That brief interval between gathering force and collapse provides the painting's tension.

The sea is set against a wide, unsettled sky, where dark blue clouds and a warm strip at the horizon make the water's colour feel changeable. Alice keeps the surrounding ocean comparatively open, giving the single wave room to rise. The painting holds an event that, at sea, would be over in seconds. Its appeal comes from that suspended instant and the great weight of water it implies.

The waterfall occupies the centre of the scene with unusual directness. A broad sheet of pale water drops over a rocky ledge, gathering into broken currents below. Orange stone borders the falls, and a closely packed line of trees sits above them. The water is the brightest area, but the dark pools and rust-coloured rocks give its downward rush a sense of weight.

Alice uses sweeping strokes that pull the eye over the lip of the falls and into the river below. The surrounding rocks do more than frame the scene: they make the force of the falling water easier to feel. Here the landscape seems shaped by the repeated passage of water through a narrow opening.

The sunflowers in this tall arrangement face in different directions. Some turn their dark centres outward; others are partly hidden or tipped away. Their heads appear at several heights, making the bouquet feel less like a formal display and more like a gathering of flowers that have grown at different rates.

Alice brings yellow and ochre blooms forward against an unusually deep field of blue-green and violet. The dark centres prevent the bright petals from becoming one continuous mass. In the painting's narrow vertical format, stems and leaves link the flowers through the full height of the image. Its interest lies in the variety within a familiar subject, especially the differences between open faces, angled heads and crowded foliage.

Ana gives the evergreen nearly the whole height of this narrow painting. Its pointed crown reaches into pale winter light, while the lower branches spread outward under a covering of snow. The tree's shape is recognizable, yet it is built from countless small passages of green, white and blue that suggest the uneven way snow settles on needles.

There is little surrounding scenery to distract from it. A cool blue area at the right and the pale background are enough to establish the cold, open air. The painting's simplicity makes the subject feel familiar: a single evergreen after snowfall, seen for a moment when its branches have become newly distinct.

This bouquet has the generous disorder of flowers gathered in several stages. Large red blossoms occupy much of the upper picture, with blue flowers and darker leaves threading through them. Below, a small white vase stands beside a substantial blue vessel, an unexpected pairing that gives the arrangement its own character.

The flowers seem to spread beyond the scale of their containers. Alice lets petals overlap and colours mingle, keeping the bouquet lively without attempting to isolate every bloom. The contrast between the white vase and the cool blue vessel is as important as the red flowers themselves. Together they make the tabletop feel like a place where objects have accumulated naturally around an abundant arrangement.

Alice places two people close together in a portrait that depends on their shared presence. The woman is in front, looking outward with a composed expression; the man stands just behind her shoulder, meeting the same gaze. Their faces are different in character, but their closeness brings them into one image.

The title, Happy Couple, is expressed through that relationship rather than exaggerated smiles. Warm skin tones and the woman's pale clothing stand out from a deep blue-green background. The man's dark jacket and bow tie give the scene a slightly formal air, like a portrait chosen to mark an occasion. Alice leaves the occasion unspecified and concentrates on the two people together.

Three koalas are tucked among bright yellow tree trunks and dense foliage. Two larger animals occupy different heights, while a smaller face appears near the lower centre. Their round ears and dark noses remain immediately recognizable, even as their coats break into an unexpected mixture of violet, blue, orange and brown.

The playful title points to the way the animals merge with the surrounding pattern. They are visible at first glance, then gradually become part of the same tangle of colour as the branches and leaves. Alice gives each koala a different expression, lending the group a lively, almost family-portrait quality. The painting's pleasure lies in looking again and noticing how many shapes have been folded into the forest.

The valley in this painting opens gradually between wooded banks and distant mountain slopes. A broad stretch of water occupies the foreground, with pale rocks along the nearer shore. The hills draw the gaze towards the centre, where a softer green clearing seems to connect the river with the mountains beyond.

Alice gives the scene a layered sense of distance. The trees nearest the water are active with autumn colour, the middle ground is calmer, and the mountains are softened into blue-violet. The river provides room to look across the landscape without losing the detail of the shoreline. It feels like a place seen from a resting point by the water, with the valley continuing well beyond what the painting shows.

The cellist is absorbed in the work of playing. Her head tilts towards the instrument, one hand poised on the fingerboard while the other draws the bow across the strings. The pose conveys concentration through a familiar physical task: listening and moving together, with small adjustments in pressure and position.

The cello's warm wooden body fills much of the picture, balancing the musician's white blouse and dark clothing. Alice uses the instrument's long vertical form to hold the composition together, while the slant of the bow gives it a sense of ongoing motion. The painting leaves the music unheard, but makes the effort of producing it easy to understand.

In Sky Ablaze, the sky seems to move across the painting in long, slanting bands of orange, pink and gold. Their strong direction turns the upper half into the centre of attention. A dark evergreen anchors the left side, giving the enormous sweep of colour a measure of scale.

The water below picks up cooler green and blue tones, interrupted by warm streaks that echo the sky. Alice keeps the shoreline low, leaving space for the changing light to dominate. The scene has the immediacy of looking up when the whole sky appears to be in motion. The tree and water keep those dramatic bands of colour rooted in a recognizable landscape.