I've painted well over 2,000 paintings in my career (so far!). My style has evolved over the years, and I love experimenting with new techniques. Every now and then, I come across a painting I once considered finished, and for one reason or another, I decide to revisit it.
Sometimes, it's because I've learned a new technique that I’m eager to try. I might look at an older painting and see it as the perfect ground for my new idea. Other times, something about a finished piece doesn’t sit right with me, even if I originally thought it was complete.
This happened recently with a painting of mine called The Music. I had painted it, photographed it, and a gallery quickly picked it up. When it didn’t sell there, another gallery took it, and after some time, it eventually made its way back to me.
Here I am with "The Music" before it went off to it's first gallery. When I looked at it again, I wasn’t sure if I was simply influenced by its lack of enthusiasm from others, but I found myself scrutinizing it. I noticed certain color combinations that felt a bit jarring. I wasn’t eager to go through the process of re-photographing it, but I also wasn’t entirely comfortable with how it looked. So I tucked it away in a corner of my studio where I could see it out of the corner of my eye.
Every time I walked into my studio, I noticed it. One day, an idea struck: what if I created a large swath of pale blue over the area that felt unresolved? Again, I hesitated—re-photographing paintings is time-consuming. But the thought stayed with me.
Eventually, I realized that I’d have to photograph new paintings anyway, so adding one more to the list wasn’t such a big deal. I took the plunge and added the pale blue. The painting instantly felt more soothing. And once I started, I kept going—adding a few more bold marks with calmer colors. The result? The new version, still part of my HOLIDAY EVERYDAY collection, now feels more balanced and relaxed. The quieter colors allow the brighter ones to peek through in a way that feels just right.
The process of revisiting The Music reminded me that art is never truly static—it evolves, just as we do. What once felt complete can shift with time, perspective, and experience. Trusting my instincts and allowing myself the freedom to make changes led to a piece that feels more harmonious and true to my vision. The Musicality now stands as a testament to that creative journey—one of exploration, refinement, and the beauty of embracing change.