Studio Chaos and Controlled Color: Inside My World

Step into my studio, and you won’t find clean lines or silent corners. You’ll find movement. Mess. Momentum.

The floor? Usually covered in paint—sometimes dry, sometimes still glistening from a recent pour.

Canvases lean against every wall in various stages of becoming. Some are halfway there, others are just beginning to whisper their potential. The whole space buzzes like a living thing. Color drips. Light bounces. Energy builds.

This is how it has to be.

My process isn’t quiet. It’s scrape, pour, slide—a full-body, almost athletic approach to painting that pulls from the physicality of the abstract expressionists of the 1950s and ’60s. I don’t sit and dab.

I move. I throw. I react. Sometimes the painting leads. Sometimes I do. We meet somewhere in the middle.

Every piece is built in layers. Acrylic gets pushed around, carved back, or dumped on with intention.

Epoxy resin settles and cures into rivers of glass. I’ll spin the canvas on its edge. Tilt it flat again. Wait. Then charge back in with bold color or precise black line work—my signature move, tracing forms and pours with expressive control.

What surrounds me is a collision of control and chaos. Bright oranges, searing reds, electric blues, soft yellows—they’re everywhere. In buckets, on my shoes, splashed across the table, and bleeding across the edge of a finished canvas.

The studio becomes a record of each painting’s story. You can literally follow the drips.

People often ask me what it’s like to live with this much color, this much energy. The truth is: I wouldn’t have it any other way. The work feeds off the room, and the room feeds off the work.

It’s a loop of creativity, instinct, and the kind of joy you only get when you stop overthinking and start throwing yourself into it.

This is where every painting starts. In the chaos. In the color. In the noise.

This is the heart of it all.

—Want to see the studio in action? Let me know and I’ll send you some behind-the-scenes shots or video. Or stop by—just watch where you step. The floor is still wet.