The Story Behind the Layers
My paintings are built from layers—lots of them. I always start with large shapes and early values so I can “see” the big picture before I get lost in the details. Once that foundation is there, the practical part of my brain relaxes, and the creative part gets to play.
There’s something comforting about layers: nothing is permanent, anything can be changed, and every mark is simply a step toward whatever comes next. I usually begin with one idea, only for it to shift direction (sometimes dramatically) before it finally lands. I’m great at starting and finishing—but the middle? The middle is where I spiral. Every single time, I swear the painting is terrible and beyond saving.
But here’s what I’ve learned: when I hit that stuck point, it’s a sign to walk away. Giving my brain a little breathing room lets me come back with fresh eyes, and shocker—I’m my own worst critic. Paintings I’m convinced are disasters somehow look pretty great a month later.
Why I Paint in Short Spurts
I’ve also discovered that I work best in short bursts. Marathon sessions only go well if I magically drop into the zone—and let’s be honest, the zone is elusive. Planning your whole creative practice around the hope that inspiration will strike is… not a strategy.
Art, like anything else, requires volume. You have to make a lot of work (including a lot of bad work) to make something worth keeping. Waiting for motivation is a guaranteed way to make nothing at all.
Teaching Through the Ugly Stage
When I teach, I try to normalize this idea: you get better by doing the work, not by waiting for some perfect, inspired version of yourself to show up. You also have to get comfortable failing—sometimes spectacularly.
But here’s the reframe: a “failed” painting isn’t a waste of time or energy. Nothing in your creative process is wasted. Every layer, every misstep, every piece that lands in the naughty corner—each one teaches you something, even if you can’t put words to it yet.
Eventually, you learn how to navigate the ugly stage. And when you finally pull a painting out of it? That little jolt of confidence is magic.
