How an abstract painting is born

People often imagine abstraction happens by accident. The opposite is true — the fewer “things” on the canvas, the more decisions behind every centimetre. I start on the floor: the canvas lies flat, the first layers are poured and the colour finds its way. At this stage I am more witness than author.

Then the painting goes up on the wall and the second, longer part begins: layering. Glaze after glaze, days of drying in between. Some layers end up entirely hidden beneath the next — but the painting knows about them. It is the invisible layers that turn a surface into depth.

The hardest part is the end. An abstract painting will not tell you it is finished; one day it simply stops asking questions. That day I put the brushes down, turn the canvas to the wall and do not look at it for a week. If nothing itches at first glance afterwards — it is done.