August 30, 2026

I Want The Painting To Have A Pulse

I don't want someone to understand one of my paintings in thirty seconds. I want it to keep giving them reasons to look again. When I finish a painting, I'm not looking for perfection. I'm looking for something harder to define. Presence. I want the painting to feel alive. I want someone to walk past it months after bringing it home and suddenly notice a texture they hadn't seen before. I want morning light to reveal something different than evening light. I want certain areas to make sense immediately and others to take time.

If I Know Exactly What's Going to Happen, Something Is Missing

There are easier ways to make paintings. Find a composition that works. Repeat it. Stay within a recognizable palette. Refine the process until the results become predictable. There's nothing wrong with that approach. It just isn't what keeps me interested.

When I walk into the studio, I want some uncertainty. That's one reason I work with materials such as fiberglass resin, plaster, acrylics and industrial chemicals. They don't always behave exactly as I expect them to.

Sometimes a reaction creates something better than I planned. Sometimes I scrape away hours of work. Sometimes an idea simply doesn't survive. But if every painting ended exactly where I expected it to, I'd start wondering whether I was still creating or simply repeating.

A Painting Should Change a Room

I think there's a difference between filling a wall and defining a space. You can find countless things to fill an empty wall. Original art should do something more. It should change how the room feels. Maybe it creates energy in a space that was too quiet. Maybe it introduces tension into a perfectly controlled interior. Maybe it becomes the first thing someone notices when they enter, or the thing they keep noticing after they've been there for an hour.