Crust: A Study in Burnt Beauty

Some paintings are meant to be seen—others are meant to be felt. Crust, a 32x40 studio work born from equal parts instinct and fire, falls unapologetically into the latter.

This piece pushes into new territory for me, exploring surface as landscape—a scorched and hardened terrain built with layer after layer of epoxy resin and acrylic. The palette is dominated by deep, almost geological blacks and charred earth tones, with veins of red, yellow, and white breaking through like molten light trapped just below the surface. It’s textured, yes—but it’s more than that. It’s cracked, burned, aged. It asks to be touched.

In the studio, I was drawn to the idea of making something that looked like dried lava or fractured stone—an organic, almost brutal composition that feels like it survived something. And yet, in the chaos of surface and pigment, there’s a quiet elegance too: moments where the light catches just right and the resin reveals pockets of unexpected softness and depth.

Crust isn’t a large piece by my standards—just 32x40 inches—but it carries weight. Visually, yes.

Emotionally, definitely. It’s one of those paintings that makes you lean in, tilt your head, and wonder how it was built. And then you feel the need to reach out and confirm: yes, it’s real. Yes, it’s textured like that. Yes, it holds heat.

This one may stay in the studio for a while, or it may find its way to a wall that can hold its presence. Either way, it reminded me why I work with my hands, with pressure, with patience. Because sometimes, you don’t need light and color to draw people in—you just need something that feels like it’s been through something and lived to show it.