Finding My Palette Knife Voice
Sometimes it takes seeing your work together before you realize your style has quietly begun to
emerge.
26 June 2026
Today, I completed two new pieces that I’ve been slowly working on over the last few weeks.
The green painting reminds me of standing in a small clearing, with a dense forest stretching out ahead as sunlight glistens through the trees. It feels peaceful. Like the beginning of a walk with nowhere particular to be.
My son, however, thought it looked like a giant berry bush in front of a forest and immediately declared it should be called “Berry Bush”.
So we compromised.
Title: Forest Escape
Subtitle: Berry Bush (according to my eight-year-old art director)
The second painting was much harder to name.
I kept seeing a weathered gray doorway near the center, surrounded by winding streets and layered buildings, like wandering through an ancient Mediterranean city. Narrow passages. Hidden courtyards. Doors leading to places you’ve never been before.
My son looked at the same painting and saw lava.
Naturally, he suggested “Lava Wave”.
I love that my son consistently names paintings from the first thing his imagination sees.
I seem to name mine from the feeling of being inside them.
For this one, I chose “City Reflections”.
Not reflections in water.
Reflections in memory.
A place you can enter.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
Lately, I’ve noticed something changing in the style of my work.
When I first picked up a palette knife, I wasn’t sure what I was looking for.
I scraped away too much.
Covered things I probably shouldn’t have.
Painted over countless layers.
Some pieces worked.
Some didn’t.
But somewhere along the way, the palette knife stopped feeling like a tool I was experimenting with and became part of my own visual language.
Seeing these paintings hanging together for the first time, I realized they’re quietly having a conversation with one another.
Some feel calm.
Some energetic.
Some mysterious.
Each one invites me somewhere different.
Looking at this wall reminds me that growth doesn’t usually happen all at once.
It happens one painting at a time.
One layer at a time.
One brave experiment at a time.
And for the first time, I feel like I’m beginning to recognize my own voice.