The Work Beneath the Work Where precision ends, and presence begins.

I used to think painting was about getting things right.
The proportions, the light, the subtle shift from warm to cool.
And yes—those things matter.
But that’s not what keeps you coming back.

It turns out the real work isn’t in the brush.
It’s in the seeing.
The kind that happens before you even lift your hand.
The kind that starts to change you over time.

Because when you look—really look—you stop needing to name everything.
You stop rushing past.
You begin to listen to the silence between objects.
To the way shadow pools against porcelain.
To the gesture a slice of lemon makes when it rests against glass.
And slowly, gently, the world starts to open up to you in return.

The still life becomes less about arrangement and more about encounter.
Not just with things, but with yourself.
With the part of you that’s patient enough to wait,
and quiet enough to see what’s really there.

This is what painting has done to me—
not taught me how to capture life,
but how to live inside of it.