CYCLES ON CANVAS

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My work lives in cycles. I begin with a fresh canvas, building up color and texture with intuition and energy. But space is limited, so my process includes a kind of ritual curation. Once or twice a year, I review everything I’ve painted with an honest eye. Many pieces are let go—not by leaving the studio, but by becoming something new. Momentum matters. This rhythm—of layering, erasing, and beginning again—has become a central part of my process.

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I paint over older works, layer upon layer, sometimes four or five times. I let each painting go, but the new image carries echoes of what came before, creating a quiet, invisible history. This cycle of creation, revision, and rebirth is as much a part of my art as the final surface. It’s not about perfection—it’s about presence, persistence, and trusting the next mark.

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I rarely plan. I start with a feeling—or more often, with color. Color is my way in. It leads. I follow.

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I use palette knives, rags, and my fingers instead of brushes. I like to be inside the paint, to push it, scrape it, wipe it away. I mix thick and thin, soft and sharp. I want the process to stay alive—not polished, not precious.

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This practice, to me, is about freedom. About movement. About the surprise of finding something I didn’t expect—again and again.