The Uncertainty Principle

If someone watched me paint, they might think I had a plan.

I don’t.

I don’t start with a finished image in mind. There’s no destination I’m trying to reach. Usually there’s just a canvas, a colour choice that may or may not work, and a willingness to see what happens next.

It isn’t designed beforehand. It emerges through the process of painting.

There is structure, but it builds in real time. One layer demands another. A section that felt right yesterday suddenly needs disrupting today. The painting develops through response rather than design.

Abstract painting isn’t random. It’s improvised.

Improvisation still requires attention. You’re constantly listening — to balance, to tension, to the way colours behave on the surface.

Mistakes aren’t disasters. They’re information. A muddy section tells you something about weight. An overworked area tells you you stopped paying attention to the painting.

Sometimes I only understand what a painting needs when I step back across the room and see it differently. Up close it feels convincing. From a distance it tells another story.

The uncertainty isn’t something to eliminate.

It’s the reason to start a painting in the first place.