Inside the Studio: How a Painting Begins

A painting rarely begins the way it ends. Most often, it starts—with a just a feeling and the first marks are instinctive.

I’m not thinking about composition in a formal sense. Sometimes it’s a single gesture that sets everything in motion. Other times it’s a series of small decisions that begin to build momentum.

The painting shifts quickly. Layers are added, then partially removed. Areas are reworked, covered, revealed again. What looks resolved one day can feel incomplete the next. That rhythm is part of the process—it keeps the work alive.

I’m constantly adjusting, looking for a balance that feels right without becoming predictable. The goal isn’t perfection—it’s presence. The moment when the painting holds its own energy.

I often work with layered paint, collage elements, and varied surfaces that allow the piece to develop over time. Each layer leaves a trace, even when it’s no longer visible.

There are moments when the direction is clear, and others when I have to sit with the work and let it shift on its own terms. Knowing when to stop is as important as knowing when to continue.

Eventually, the painting feels complete. Balanced. That’s when I know it’s finished.