acrylic and oil pastel on raw canvas
120 / 150 cm
unstretched / unframed
Over time, I’ve learned not to judge my paintings. At some point, the process ends, and the work steps away from me. It becomes its own surface, its own voice. No longer something to resolve.
This canvas arrived like that. It didn’t ask for meaning, only for space. Color moved freely across it, without negotiation. The process felt open, intuitive and playful in a way that echoed something early, something unguarded.
There are moments here that don’t try to explain themselves. They sit, shift, and hold their place. I can’t say that I particularly like it, but that doesn’t feel important. Not everything needs approval to exist.
Before I return the canvas to silence, I’m giving it a brief window to find a new home, one week to be seen, to find its way, or not…
acrylic and oil pastel on raw canvas
120 / 150 cm
unstretched / unframed
Over time, I’ve learned not to judge my paintings. At some point, the process ends, and the work steps away from me. It becomes its own surface, its own voice. No longer something to resolve.
This canvas arrived like that. It didn’t ask for meaning, only for space. Color moved freely across it, without negotiation. The process felt open, intuitive and playful in a way that echoed something early, something unguarded.
There are moments here that don’t try to explain themselves. They sit, shift, and hold their place. I can’t say that I particularly like it, but that doesn’t feel important. Not everything needs approval to exist.
Before I return the canvas to silence, I’m giving it a brief window to find a new home, one week to be seen, to find its way, or not…
