Solving the Painting (Or Letting It Solve Me)
My notes on problem solving — good luck deciphering!
When I start a painting, my mind immediately goes to work. Every move has a purpose. Every color has to relate to the next. I’m constantly asking: How does this decision affect the next one? Where is this going? What is the end goal?
I try to make sense of everything.
And eventually, I wear myself out.
Because painting, at least the way I’ve been approaching it, becomes less about discovery and more about control. I start trying to solve the painting before it even has a chance to become something on its own.
So lately, I’ve been pushing back on that instinct.
Painting Without a Plan
For the sake of creativity, I’ve set out to do a series of paintings that are based on… nothing.
No subject.
No story.
No clear plan.
That feels uncomfortable to even write.
I’m used to anchoring a painting in something—an object, a place, a narrative. Something that gives me direction. But this time, I’m trying to remove that safety net and see what happens when the painting is just… a series of decisions.
Or maybe a series of non-decisions.
The Rules (Because I Still Need Them)
Maybe I Want To | 36×36” | Oil on Canvas
Of course, even when I try to let go, I end up making rules. I can’t help it.
Do not paint over another color.
Lines will follow the drips on the canvas—but they cannot connect.
Avoid value, depth, and subject.
These are small constraints, but they change everything.
Instead of solving the whole painting at once, I’m solving tiny, immediate problems. One stroke at a time. One color next to another. One decision that doesn’t have to explain itself yet.
Each mark becomes a play.
And then I change the game.
The Struggle to Let Go
Here’s the truth: I’m still struggling with it.
Even in these “rule-less” paintings, I catch myself slipping back into problem-solving mode.
Does this color work next to that one?
Should this go darker? Lighter?
Where is this going?
I want things to work out. I want the painting to resolve. I want it to make sense.
But that’s exactly the instinct I’m trying to quiet.
Because not everything has to be solved immediately. Not every mark has to justify itself.
Because I Can | 36×36” | Oil on Canvas
Letting the Painting Breathe
When I can step back—just for a moment—I start to see something different happen.
Without the pressure of subject or outcome, the painting starts to breathe a little. Colors sit next to each other without explanation. Lines wander. Drips become direction.
It’s less about building something and more about watching something unfold.
And maybe that’s the point.
A Different Kind of Problem Solving
I don’t think I’ll ever stop being a problem solver. That’s part of how I’m wired, and honestly, it’s part of what makes me a painter.
But maybe the problem isn’t the painting.
Maybe the problem is knowing when to stop solving.
To let a stroke exist without fixing it.
To let a color sit without questioning it.
To let the painting be unresolved for a little while longer.
Because sometimes, the best thing I can do is not solve the painting at all.
Just play.
