My Painting Method
I paint organisms and creatures that live under the surface of our world, too small to be seen by the naked eye. I get the general composition and theme for my paintings from bacteria slides seen through a microscope. I only loosely model my paintings from the bacteria images, which allows me to imagine unique landscapes that are both scientific and artistic. There are a couple of techniques I use that have helped me find my style, and tap into the "flow" state that helps facilitate creativity.
I work with over 60 unfinished works at a time. Having such a large collection of paintings to work on distances me from any one painting. Distance helps me make better decisions about what to keep, what to toss, and what to change. It also gives me time to let what I just painted settle into the folds of my brain. So, as time passes, I can come back to a painting fresh.
I listen to loud music or audiobooks and paint fast, which weakens my impulse to think twice before making a mark. I call this the "gathering stage." Nothing is thrown away: The good and bad all come out. It doesn't matter if my paint strokes clutter or unify the painting; their power to do both is what gives me lots of material to work with and shape later on.
I estimate that 80% of my time painting is at this early gathering period, and most of the work gets sanded off or painted over. It takes months to complete this stage, and because I build layer upon layer, very few paintings keep my original bacteria slide composition. However, though I can't point to a painting and say, "Yeah, that's Salmonella Typhimurium," the theme still hints at a landscape that is very tiny and constantly in motion — degrading, transforming, and sprawling — just like bacteria.
I try to avoid being self-conscious while I paint, but that doesn't mean I banish the inner critic forever. A good critic is needed at the right time. Once I feel a section of the painting expresses my style, I slow down and start carefully editing. Often these areas appear spontaneously, almost separate and distinct from all of my previous layers of paint and work, but are explicitly linked. For example, I worked on a painting off and on for almost two years, covering each layer of paint with another but with no substantial progress. I would have trashed the painting for good, but in a moment of desperation, I took my brush, and with red paint, made some jagged lines across the painting. Remarkably, after that I was able to formulate the next steps to complete the painting! The slashes alone wouldn't be enough to excite me or make the painting complete, but atop all the previous work, they were the catalyst to complete my painting. When moments like these happen, I change the music I'm listening to or turn it off. Or I turn the painting around to work on it upside down. These are all “wake up” techniques that aid me in formulating a plan to finish the painting. This is the final stage of my painting. It moves me from intuitive to rational, and it helps me create cohesion and depth in each painting after the gathering stage.
Because most of my paintings are very small, every color, stroke, and shape really matters. I notice the tone of the piece. Is it earthy? Ethereal? Elegant? Is there a sense of danger or calm? Do I keep the same quality throughout, or does it shift at some point? Is this shift jarring or smooth? After asking myself questions like these I make conscious decisions: This red, not that yellow. This curve, not that angle.
The subconscious and conscious mindsets work together in my approach to painting. They let me create fresh, vibrant paintings, and reduce internal censorship. Utilizing both sides of my brain to their fullest helps tap into my creativity that's tucked inside, and otherwise beyond my grasp.
