Jan Buragay is a self-taught impressionist painter based in Regina, Saskatchewan, specializing in acrylic on canvas. His work is rooted in the rich tradition of the Impressionist movement, characterized by vivid colour palettes and expressive, small brush strokes. Influenced by masters like Claude Monet, Georges Seurat, Vincent van Gogh, and Leonid Afremov, Jan brings a contemporary voice to a timeless style.

Deeply inspired by nature and the landscapes he encounters on his travels, Jan’s paintings serve as visual memoirs—capturing the emotion and beauty of the places he’s experienced. Through his art, he invites viewers to see the world through his eyes and connect with the wonder of the natural world.

I exist at the intersection of multiple truths—queer, Filipino, immigrant, caregiver. Each identity shapes how I navigate care, witness grief, and create. As a queer Filipino immigrant working in palliative care, I’ve learned that healthcare spaces are often not built for people like me or the communities I serve. They rely on standardized care models that overlook cultural identity, personal values, and spiritual needs.

Yet, within these limits, I’ve witnessed moments of extraordinary grace. As a palliative care nurse, I’ve sat beside people taking their final breaths. I’ve heard whispered final words in Tagalog, English, and silence. I’ve watched love bloom in hospital rooms, even amid suffering. I’ve seen death as not just an end, but a form of return—a homecoming, a release.

From this place of witnessing, When the Light Came and Sat Beside Me emerged. Set in the stillness of Wascana Lake during winter’s hush, the painting captures a single sunbeam filtering through bare trees. The snow is undisturbed except for a trail of footprints leading toward the horizon—suggesting a quiet passage, a journey underway. Whether those prints belong to someone who has just passed, or someone accompanying them, is intentionally left open. The landscape holds presence and absence equally. The trees are silent witnesses. The snow is a canvas for memory.

But it is the light—warm, golden, unobtrusive—that gives the painting its soul. It doesn’t command or demand. It simply sits beside, quietly illuminating the scene like a companion at the bedside. For me, that light symbolizes everything a peaceful death should be: grounded, gentle, dignified. It’s the care we hope to offer when medicine steps back and presence takes over.

This painting is a quiet act of resistance. A soft invocation. It asks: What if we designed end-of-life care that truly honored the full humanity of those we serve? What if death was not something to be managed, but accompanied with care, respect, and love?

I often return to the title. It was inspired by an afternoon in a patient’s room—just the two of us, with sunlight pouring through the window as they slept. It felt like presence. Like comfort. Like something greater than either of us. In that moment, I realized sitting beside someone in their final hours is not passivity; it is deep, intentional care.

Through this work, I offer viewers a space to reflect on death—not as something to fear, but as something peaceful, even beautiful, when held with dignity. I hope it invites conversations about art, grief, and the urgent need for a more compassionate, equitable healthcare system—where no one dies unseen.