My Artistic Odyssey: From Figuration to Abstract Expression

Sometimes, looking back at where you started feels like peeking into a different lifetime. My artistic journey, particularly the winding path that led me to embrace abstract expression, is one of those stories. It wasn't a straight line, more like a tangled ball of yarn I occasionally tripped over, but it was my path, full of fumbling attempts, quiet epiphanies, and a fair bit of internal debate about whether I was 'good enough.' Think of it less as a grand plan and more as a series of fortunate accidents, punctuated by moments of stubborn refusal to fit into any predefined box. This journey took me from meticulous representation to the liberating chaos of abstract expression, a path I'll share with you now, hoping perhaps, you'll find echoes of your own creative evolution within its twists and turns, and perhaps even understand the philosophy behind my contemporary works.

The Curious Case of the Reluctant Artist: My Early Days

I remember my early days vividly. Like many aspiring artists, I began by trying to replicate the world around me. Landscapes, still life, the occasional portrait of a very patient (or very bored) family member – you name it, I probably tried to capture it. I was convinced that 'good' art meant perfect representation, a mirror held up to reality. And, oh, the frustration! I recall one particularly stubborn still life – a bowl of fruit that seemed to mock my every attempt to capture its fleeting ripeness. The apples always looked dull, the grapes too perfectly round, never quite conveying the abundance or the slight decay that made them interesting. It was like trying to fit a symphony into a tiny music box; the notes were there, but the soul was missing.

Then there was 'Aunt Mildred's Smile,' a portrait I labored over for weeks. I got every wrinkle right, every strand of hair in place, but the twinkle in her eye, the warmth of her actual smile? Vanished. It was a technical success but an emotional failure, a meticulous copy of a person without any of the life that made her, well, Mildred. It was like painstakingly crafting a perfectly accurate map, only to realize you hadn't captured the exhilarating feeling of the journey itself.

Henry Lyman Sayen Huntingdon Valley Landscape, licence

Looking back, I was trying to force my creative spirit into a mold that wasn't quite right. It was like trying to be a Michelin-star chef when all you really want to do is experiment with spices and see what happens, delicious or not. This phase taught me discipline, yes, but it also taught me that something was lacking. There was an unspoken dissatisfaction, a quiet hum of 'is this all there is?' that followed me around the studio, hinting at a deeper, unexpressed truth.

A Whisper of Discomfort: When the Canvas Felt Too Small

That quiet hum eventually grew louder. I started to feel a profound disconnect between what I saw with my eyes and what I felt in my gut. The world, in its beautiful, chaotic glory, seemed too vast, too emotional, too alive to be confined by literal representation. How do you capture the dizzying rush of inspiration, the quiet hum of a forest at dawn, or the complex tapestry of grief and joy, with only lines and shapes meant to mimic what's already visible? It felt limiting, almost dishonest to the experience, like trying to bottle a thunderstorm in a thimble.

I’d stare at a perfectly rendered tree and think, "Yes, that's a tree. But what about the wind blowing through its leaves? What about the joy of seeing it, or the melancholy of its falling leaves?" I tried to convey these feelings by adding more textured brushstrokes or using slightly off-colors, but it always felt forced, a whisper rather than a shout. The canvas, designed to hold images, suddenly felt too small for emotions. It was a bit like trying to write a novel about the universe, but only being allowed to use words that describe squirrels. Important, yes, but not the whole story, not the felt story.

This period of discomfort was crucial. It forced me to ask what art really meant to me. Was it about showing what's there, or about expressing what's felt? For me, the answer slowly, hesitantly, began to lean towards the latter – towards authenticity over replication.

The Tipping Point: Ditching the Rulebook and Finding Freedom

The pivot wasn't a sudden, dramatic explosion of color and intuitive strokes. It was more of a gradual surrender, a slow shedding of expectations and rules I'd unconsciously adopted. My initial experiments were hesitant, like a child dipping a toe into a vast, unknown ocean. A bolder stroke than usual, a color chosen purely for its emotional resonance rather than its descriptive accuracy. There was no grand plan, just a growing curiosity about the unknown and a powerful desire to speak my own visual language.

And let me tell you, the fear was real. Giving up the safety net of 'realistic' depiction felt like stepping off a cliff without a parachute. What if no one understood it? What if I just made a mess? But the yearning for genuine expression was louder than the fear.

One day, I found myself captivated by the sheer energy and raw emotion in works by artists like Basquiat – the unapologetic marks, the vibrant chaos that seemed to speak directly to the soul without needing to depict anything literally. With Basquiat, it was the raw, almost desperate energy, the way his lines screamed and whispered simultaneously, a visual language of rebellion and raw honesty. Or the layered complexity of a Richter, where color and texture tell a story all their own. Richter, on the other hand, showed me the power of layers, of creation through destruction, of beauty in the blurred and scraped, echoing the layers of emotion I felt. And then there was Kandinsky, a true pioneer, who showed how pure color and form could evoke profound spiritual experiences, leading the way for abstract art as a language of the soul. It wasn't about copying; it was about realizing that art could be this liberating, this personal.

If you're curious about these fascinating artists and the broader movement, you might find my ultimate guide to Jean-Michel Basquiat, the ultimate guide to Gerhard Richter, or the ultimate guide to abstract expressionism illuminating.

Jean-Michel Basquiat Abstract Painting, licence

This was my tipping point: the realization that the canvas wasn't just a window to the world, but a mirror to my inner landscape. The rulebook was officially tossed out the window, and frankly, it felt good.

Gerhard Richter Abstract Painting (726) Close-up, licence

Embracing the Unknown: My Foray into Abstract Expression

Stepping into abstract expression was like learning to dance without choreography. It was clumsy at first, a lot of awkward shuffling, but then came the rhythm, the flow. It became about intuition, about responding to the paint, the canvas, and the moment. My studio transformed from a place of meticulous planning to a playground of spontaneous creation. This shift was also practical: I started experimenting with new tools like palette knives, scrapers, and even my hands, pushing paint around in ways traditional brushes never allowed, truly freeing the process. Sometimes, an accidental drip would transform into the most perfect line, a 'mistake' becoming a breakthrough, and in those moments, I knew I was on the right path.

For me, abstract expression isn't about creating something 'meaningless' – quite the opposite. It's about distilling emotion, energy, and thought into pure form, color, and texture. If I'm feeling a profound sense of peace, it might emerge as flowing, interconnected shapes and a cool palette. If it's a burst of creative energy, I might find myself attacking the canvas with bold, almost aggressive strokes and vibrant, clashing colors. It's about finding freedom in layers, where each stroke contributes to a deeper, unspoken narrative. If you’ve ever wondered why I pour my soul into this style, you can read more about why I paint abstract: my personal philosophy and artistic vision. And the evolution of this style? That’s a whole other story of finding my voice.

Kandinsky Brown Silence, licence

The process became an act of pure presence, a conversation between me and the canvas. No longer chasing perfection, but embracing imperfection, the unexpected drip, the accidental blend. It's truly a dance of intuition and intent and an exploration of the language of layers. This spontaneity is exactly what I explore in the art of intuitive painting.

Bold Abstract Expressionist Painting, licence

The Inner Dialogue: Challenges and Rewards of My Path

Of course, embracing abstract art isn't without its quirks. There's the occasional well-meaning relative who asks, "But what is it?" The most common reaction, I’ve found, often comes wrapped in a polite smile and the question, "So, what exactly am I looking at?" My usual go-to response is, "Well, what does it make you feel?" It's a conversation, not a quiz. Honestly, there are days when even I stand back from a piece and think, "Did I just make a masterpiece, or is this a toddler's finger painting?" (Usually, it's somewhere beautifully in between, thankfully!). That internal critic can be a real piece of work, whispering, "You call that art?" But I've learned to acknowledge it and then gently tell it to take a tea break.

But the rewards far outweigh these amusing challenges. There’s an unparalleled sense of freedom and authenticity. Each piece is a little bit of my soul on canvas, a raw emotion, a fleeting thought, a vibrant energy captured without the filter of literal interpretation. It’s where I explore the emotional language of color and the role of texture. And this is where the magic truly happens: abstract art isn't meaningless, it's multi-meaningful. It bypasses the literal and speaks directly to the subconscious, inviting each viewer to find their own narratives, their own echoes within the shapes and shades. For those who connect with it, it’s a powerful mirror, allowing them to find their own meaning within the strokes. If you've ever wondered about the depth behind the seemingly 'meaningless' in abstract art, I invite you to read my perspective on finding depth and narrative, or explore decoding abstract art: a guide to finding meaning.

Looking Forward: Where the Brush Takes Me Next

My artistic journey is far from over. I still wake up with fresh ideas, eager to explore new techniques, delve deeper into mixed media, and push the boundaries of what a canvas can hold. I'm currently fascinated by the interplay of light and shadow in heavily textured pieces, exploring how mixed media can add new dimensions, or perhaps even delving into the challenge of larger-scale installations. The big question I'm wrestling with now is how to convey even more profound silence and stillness within the dynamic energy of abstract forms. The beauty of abstract expression is its infinite possibilities. There's always a new way to listen to the silence and the sound of the canvas, a new texture to explore as I venture beyond the brush.

Your Journey, My Art: Finding Connection

Perhaps my journey resonates with your own, whether in art or life. That feeling of wanting to break free, to express something beyond the visible. So, if you've ever felt that pull to express something beyond the visible, that yearning for a language deeper than words, then perhaps my journey will resonate with yours. My art isn't just a record of my own internal world; it's an invitation for you to explore your own, a silent dialogue between painter and viewer. My hope is that my art, born from this very personal evolution, offers you a space for your own reflection, a chance to explore how abstract art can be a mirror to your inner world. It’s not about understanding every brushstroke, but about feeling, connecting, and allowing the colors and forms to speak to something within you. For a deeper dive, consider my personal guide to finding meaning.

My Artistic Timeline & Where to Find My Work

If you're curious to see more of this journey unfold, take a look at my artistic timeline. And if any of these pieces speak to you, remember that my art is available for sale directly from my studio. While my main presence is through my studio and online shop, I'm always open to new exhibition opportunities and have, on occasion, been fortunate to show pieces at places like the Den Bosch Museum.

Frequently Asked Questions About My Artistic Journey

Q: Why did you switch from traditional art to abstract expression?

A: It wasn't a conscious 'switch' as much as an evolution. I found that traditional, representational art felt too confining for the emotions and energies I wanted to express. Abstract expression offered a liberating freedom to communicate directly through color, form, and texture, without the need for literal depiction. It felt more authentic to my inner world.

Q: Was it a difficult transition, emotionally or technically?

A: Emotionally, it was both freeing and challenging. Freeing because I could let go of external expectations, and challenging because I had to learn to trust my intuition completely. Technically, it was about unlearning old habits and embracing new ways of seeing and creating. It involved a lot of experimentation and a willingness to make 'mistakes' that often turned into breakthroughs.

Q: What advice would you give to someone looking to find their unique artistic style?

A: Experiment fearlessly! Don't be afraid to try new techniques, even if they seem outside your comfort zone. Pay attention to what truly resonates with you, not what you think you 'should' be doing. Most importantly, give yourself permission to make 'bad' art – it's often through those pieces that you discover what truly makes your heart sing. Your unique voice will emerge when you stop trying to sound like someone else and just speak from your own truth. You can learn more about my own creative process.

Q: How do you overcome creative blocks when working on abstract art?

A: Creative blocks are part of the journey! For me, it often means stepping away from the canvas, sometimes for a few hours, sometimes for days. I might look at art from different movements, listen to music, or simply go for a walk in nature to clear my head. Often, the solution comes not from forcing a breakthrough, but from allowing my subconscious to work, trusting that the ideas will re-emerge when I'm ready. Sometimes, I just pick up a new tool or try a completely different color palette – disrupting the routine often unlocks new pathways.