Painting “Filigree on Fire”
For me, whether it’s photography or painting, my work is a continuous exploration of how process informs art. My painting, “Filigree on Fire,” is a perfect example of how the disciplines I’ve explored over the years connect and feed one another.
Looking at the photos of me in my studio, you can see that the process begins with a foundation of pure energy. I start with rapid, gestural movements of thin paint, building up a chaotic yet powerful explosion of color. This initial layer, with its blues, yellows, oranges, and pinks, feels almost like a blurred, motion-filled photograph. It’s a spontaneous beginning, a reaction to the initial marks on the canvas. I then slowly build up layer upon layer of thicker paint, reacting to what I see until the piece takes on a life of its own.
The final layer of thick, swirling black forms is where my trained eye as a photographer comes to the forefront. These aren’t random marks; they are deliberate, intricate shapes that seem to dance across the canvas. They are a visual echo of the natural patterns I’ve observed and captured in my photography, whether it’s the intricate veins of a leaf or the spontaneous flow of a stream.
A Common Thread: From Camera to Canvas
My interest in abstract painting and fine art photography, especially using alternative processes like platinum/palladium, reveals a common thread. Both practices are fundamentally about finding form and meaning in the world and then using a meticulous process to make that vision a tangible reality.
I think of my abstractions as macro-photographs zoomed in so closely that the object becomes unrecognizable. This is a powerful way for me to describe what I do. My painting process is an act of extreme abstraction, taking the principles I apply in photography—like light, shadow, and composition—and using them in a new medium.
I know a painting is finished when I have an intuitive sense that tells me to STOP. I’ve learned to recognize when I’ve gone too far, a common challenge for artists. This “intuitive sense” is not a mystical feeling but rather the result of hard-won experience. This is a fascinating parallel to the “decisive moment” in photography—that split second when I know to press the shutter because the elements have aligned perfectly.
I am always thinking about light and shadow, even when it isn’t explicitly evident in an abstraction. This is the core of my art. The chaotic color beneath the “Violet Arabesques” provides the emotional weight, while the black, calligraphic forms provide the structure and rhythm. By collecting my work, my collectors aren’t just acquiring an object; they are bringing a piece of my continuous creative journey into their homes.
