To an artist, emotions can be the most wonderfully frustrating thing! In my brushstrokes, my use of colours, the method of using old and often damaged canvases, there are more than a few drops of emotion.

As to the Stoic, emotions are often detrimental to the vision I initially wish to convey and, as it is with life, emotions are the catalyst to the most wonderful surprises an artist or a viewer could possibly experience.

Art is moved by its creator, as the viewer is moved by the art and, in turn, the viewer moves the creator themselves.

This, like a summer wind, is a notoriously unreliable force…

Although I am deeply emotionally connected to each piece of Art I am privileged to make, I often employ a “Zen Garden” approach to my art. Where I deliberately detach myself from the work upon its completion and wipe it out to begin anew.

Not because what I have made was flawed (for no work of art could be art if it did not carry a perfect flaw), but because art can be a feeble attempt by humans to achieve immortality. To capture a scene, a story, a feeling, and hoping that it is preserved, loved and respected for thousands of generations to come.

By this exercise, my art keeps my emotions in check and balances me and my work with the universe.

The tiny hands of a little girl were doing their best to carefully touch dabs of colour to a white page in front of big, expectant eyes, awaiting the moment that the soft bursts revealed an image on the desolate sheet. In the corner of those same eyes, a tall figure was masterfully adding the contours and shadows to the, by comparison, huge canvas on the easel in front of him.

As I looked down, my brush disturbing the face of the water to rinse the blue from the hairs before they could be dunked into the red, I realised, with the chaotically harmonious scales of the Christian Metal, praising the Creator of all things, filling the space of my father’s sacrosanct studio, that, as I was stirring the peace of the water with the frantic movement of my brush, so my father’s peaceful, friendly figures and vibrant colours were slashing through the loud cacophony of the music.

Ever since I started my pursuit of creating art as a vocation, this memory drifts in-and-out of my consciousness, reminding me what art is (at the very least, to me.)

Honesty.

I do not try to force my viewers to see what I see, and to feel what I do when creating it. Painting it myself and viewing my work are two completely different
experiences, as they should be. I give the audience the background of my work, or the story I as the artist resonated with during the creation. But that should always be secondary. YOU must first see the work. Speak to it. Let it speak back to you. Then you may see my story, but, I implore you, first see YOUR story, and then I invite you to accept or reject my own.

If you take meaning away from my art, same or different than mine, I encourage you to keep a space in your soul for it.

If you do not take anything away from it, that’s key too.

If your meaning speaks to my art differently than what I spoke to it, it has a rightful place in your soul.

If you speak to my art and it only whispers back, that, too, has meaning.

If you speak to my art and you are answered with silence, let that silence fill the void for a moment.

But your speaking is what makes the art, art.

My career is set by a few rules, that were surprisingly easy to install and to follow:

I do not mind getting criticised; opinions, especially contradictory ones, are good, they help us grow.
I never tell the viewer what they should see, I share my experience through my work and leave it there.
My art speaks for itself. ALWAYS. If I have to explain it, it’s not going to be better off than just leaving it open for your interpretation. In all my art, I share a piece of my soul, so to speak.

When I am preparing an art piece, it is usually on Photoshop, or in my sketchbook with water paint, acrylic, pastel or charcoal. Pen and pencil I use rarely. they are more for notes or quick, I am lazy sketches.

The medium I enjoy using most is Oil paint, I enjoy all the layers or glazing I can compound to bring my ideas to life, and I use this to communicate my message.

Ideas come in all forms and it is always important to have a camera (or phone), notebook, or sketchbook, within a second’s reach for when inspiration strikes.

If I could capture an image (or come across an image captured), I sometimes put this on the computer to play with designs, compositions and colours on photoshop, and then start the sketch work (later with watercolours, acrylics, pastels, or charcoal). Sometimes an immediate sketch is what the art demands and I always try to diligently obey. If the Art Piece work better as a digital painting (From the Testing phase), I then leave the Digital artwork, as the final art piece. The last few months I have been building my Digital Art Collection.

Pen and pencil I rarely use, they are more for notes, or, quick, I-am-sometimes-allowed-to-be-lazy sketches.

My dominant medium is Oil Paints, and I enjoy all the compounding layers and glazing which it offers me, to bring my expression of life to a tangible work capable of communicating my vision to the viewer, while still allowing the viewer to imprint their own message onto the work themselves.

There are recurring subjects and colour palettes, yes.

I do not yet have specific symbols in my art. I am curious about incorporating the Japanese Hiragana, but this will require a lot of experimentation to preserve the 本当 “Hontō” (Truth) of these symbols in my art.

The paradoxical play of light within dark and vice versa is prevalent throughout my work and is a strong symbol of the epoch the current world finds itself in.

My favourite piece is one I will only ever see in photos now.
For several reasons (none of which I wish to bore you with now), I was in the position that I had to cover it with paint. I won’t ever try to recreate it.
It was a painting made in the raw spur of the moment, fueled by emotion and little care for rules, such as lean over thick paint, oil pastels that don’t dry properly
when mixed with other mediums – all applicable rules were broken and the longevity of the painting would’ve been greatly compromised.
But this was also the point.
The emotions were raw, fragile and fleeting, and so the methods accurately displayed this. The image itself comprised of a girl in a dark setting, with little light effects to round the figure, curled up in a corner. ’til today, one year later, this painting hanging only as a print in my studio, reminds me that, breaking the rules at the right time, can also be beneficial.

Through the naming convention, I use for my art. Each painting is painted with a specific story and music playlist that surrounds me during the creation of that art piece. I have a story I write, build, and even sometimes direct, while listening to a suited playlist, setting the scene and environment for me to stay in that creative headspace. This allows me to effectively jump to a new one, by pulling my surroundings with me, when I work on another painting on the same day.

Most of my current works are portraits. This is because I am carefully developing the characters which will serve as the foundation for my later, more elaborate scenes. To develop these characters, I experiment with them – but as most of them are portraits, still-life, or cityscapes/landscapes mostly static in their existing form, I convey the core of my message in the naming of my paintings: The meaning of flowers, based on flower dictionaries of the 1800s. The meaning of each flower is given in a message with my painting, with an accompanying poem (or quote) revealing the story to the viewer.

I engage by walking a path with my audience. Today, they see me in my early artistic career, merely creating the building blocks for the stories I aspire to tell in time, as my technique and my craft are refined and I develop the necessary skills that will allow me to convey the books and books of stories I wish to still tell.

My preferred method for creating my art involves employing a glazing technique, which revolves around applying thin, mostly transparent layers on top of each other. The process typically begins with a detailed sketch, which is referred to as a “map of values.” This sketch serves as a foundation beneath a semi-transparent layer of underpainting. Instead of opting for the traditional approach of using a semi-contrasting colour for the underpainting, I choose a colour that I intend to dominate the painting. Once this underpainting is in place and dried, it becomes the first layer of mid-tone value, effectively locking in the sketch.

The initial glaze involves applying a darker mid-tone value, primarily focusing on the shadows. During this stage, I adhere closely to the underpainting colour, utilizing the perceived colour method. Subsequently, the painting evolves through repeated applications of glazes until the values are adequately established, achieving the airy, unfinished look that I typically aim for. In essence, my artistic process can be summarised in one word: Glazing.

It’s a technique I developed a fondness for early on, perhaps as a form of self-expression distinct from my father’s impasto style. This technique permeates all my works, from recent, poster-like portraits to my earliest pieces.

Each painting begins with an underpainting that sets the trajectory of my entire process. I rely heavily on a detailed outlined sketch, which serves as my guide for the majority of the painting process. In some instances, I allow grid lines and pencil marks to remain visible in the final layers, adding a unique touch that brushes alone cannot achieve and emphasising the painstaking work that goes into the creation of original art.

Once the sketch is in place and the underpainting colour is chosen and dried, I proceed with layers of paint, adhering to the lean-over-thick rule. Starting with mid-shadow tones, I gradually build up the painting, adjusting values as needed. I often begin with colours closest to the underpainting background, gradually introducing desaturated perceived colours for variation while maintaining a predominantly monochromatic palette.

I tend to prefer monochromatic palettes for several reasons. They offer a sense of calm and avoid exhausting my senses with too many intense colours. While I do appreciate the vibrancy of bold chromas, I find them mentally taxing to work with extensively. My personality leans towards tranquillity, and overly busy colour schemes can leave me (and the viewer) feeling overwhelmed.

The painting process involves a series of adjustments and refinements over several sessions, with each layer left to dry before the next is applied. I carefully balance lighter and darker values, gradually adding highlights and the lightest touches towards the end of the process.

Despite the meticulous craftsmanship involved, I often find myself dissatisfied – a common struggle among artists.

After weeks of work, the painting is finally varnished and prepared for display or delivery. While my studio setup typically involves stretched canvases for stability, my works are sold in various forms, including raw-primed canvas, board, framed or unframed, to accommodate different preferences and settings.