Why I Choose Every Material with Intention
When we look at a painting, we almost never think about what lies beneath its surface. Our attention is drawn to colour, light, atmosphere, or perhaps to a feeling that is difficult to explain. If a painting becomes part of our lives, it is because something within it continues to speak to us long after we have stopped consciously noticing it. And that is exactly how it should be.
The most important decisions behind a painting are often the ones that remain invisible. Long before the first layer of paint touches the canvas, an artist has already begun shaping the future of the work. The choice of the ground, the canvas, the pigments, the oils, and every material that follows becomes part of a quiet structure that will support the painting for decades. None of these decisions are meant to attract attention. Their purpose is far more modest: to allow the painting to remain true to itself.
I have never chosen materials because they are considered prestigious or exclusive. I choose them because I believe every painting deserves the chance to grow old with dignity.
A painting rarely remains where it was created. It moves into someone's home and becomes part of ordinary mornings, familiar evenings, family conversations, celebrations, quiet moments, and the passing of years. Gradually, it no longer belongs only to the artist. It becomes woven into another person's life. That thought shapes every material I choose.
The finest materials are remarkable precisely because they never compete with the work itself. They ask for no recognition and never seek attention. Their role is quieter than that. They help preserve what the painting is trying to preserve: the depth of colour, the softness of light, the balance between transparency and opacity, the physical stability of the surface, and the subtle relationships that allow an oil painting to remain alive.
I often think that care begins long before the final brushstroke. It begins with decisions that a collector may never see directly, yet will experience for many years without ever thinking about them. A good material never announces itself. It simply allows the painting to retain the sense of presence that first invited someone to stop and look.
Perhaps that is why choosing materials has never felt like a purely technical part of my practice. To me, it has always been an act of respect - respect for the painting itself, respect for the traditions that have taught generations of artists how to create works meant to endure, and above all, respect for the person who will one day live with the painting and quietly make it part of their own story.
If my materials remain invisible, then they have done exactly what they were meant to do. They have allowed the painting - not the process behind it - to remain what truly matters.
