Painting begins with one mark, and that mark gives me something to follow. It appears, disappears, and sometimes returns much later in another form.
As the painting changes, each decision opens another possibility. A mark may need to be covered, softened, or allowed to remain. Something that seemed lost can emerge through the layers and suddenly become important again.
Perhaps this is what keeps me so engaged—the painting is never fully known while it is being made. Meaning develops through the changes, and the next direction often comes from something already there.
The joy is in paying attention, responding, and trusting the painting enough to let it lead.
Inside the Process
Often the figure emerges from the atmosphere rather than being placed within it. The space around the body matters as much as the body itself; both carry the emotional weight of the painting.
A pause, a lean, or a form partly lost within the field can feel familiar without becoming a fixed story. The painting remains open, allowing memory and presence to meet without being fully explained.