Getting Started
How I Got Started
Like a lot of people, the pandemic cracked open a little extra time—and a lot of creative restlessness. At the time, my day job had me deep in graphic design and leading teams inside the corporate tech world. I was making things constantly, but not always for myself. Acrylic pour painting became a way to stay loose, curious, and hands-on without rules or client expectations.
It started simply: watching way too many YouTube videos and falling down Instagram rabbit holes. I studied artists, techniques, color choices—anything that made me stop scrolling. I wasn’t trying to copy anyone. I just wanted to understand why certain pours worked and others didn’t.
From there, it was all experimentation. Different paints. Different brands. Different pouring mediums. Cheap materials, better materials, and a lot of trial and error. Some pieces worked. Plenty didn’t. Every one of them taught me something.
I moved through styles the same way—by trying everything. Dutch pours, swipes, flip cups, blowing techniques, controlled chaos versus letting the paint do its thing. Each method has its own personality, and exploring them helped me figure out what felt natural to me and what didn’t.
Color became the real obsession. Playing with contrast, transparency, and movement—pushing palettes until they almost broke, then pulling them back just enough. A lot of the work lives in that balance between intention and surprise.
Just as important as the painting itself is the process around it. I genuinely enjoy dialing in efficient, repeatable workflows for each step—sanding the birchwood panels, applying a clear coat and sanding again, laying down a smooth primed surface, and carefully masking the sides. That preparation makes it possible to focus on the pour while ensuring a clean, intentional finish once the paint and epoxy have fully cured.
The final step is finishing. A clear epoxy top coat deepens the color, locks in the movement, and gives each piece a polished, professional presence. It’s the moment the work shifts from experiment to something complete—something meant to live on a wall, not a studio table.
That rhythm—learning, refining, and trusting the process—is still how I work today. Every piece is part exploration, part control, and part letting go.