The Universe: Peeling Back The Layers

This is me standing in front of my work The Universe — 100 inches tall by 60 inches wide. It’s the largest painting I’ve created to date. I began this piece in the spring of 2024, working layer by layer in oil on canvas. When this photo was taken, I believed it was finished.

And then something unexpected happened.

I met with my art mentor, the artist Ajay Kurian. As we sat together discussing the work, he quietly said something that stayed with me:
"I think you have more inside you for this painting."

His words didn’t startle or upset me. In fact, they struck a chord with a feeling I hadn’t fully admitted to myself — I had been afraid to go deeper. I was scratching the surface, stopping short of where I knew this work could truly go.

That conversation unlocked something.

What I thought was the end of the process became the beginning of a deeper exploration. More layers, more risk, more honesty. I allowed myself to stay in the work longer — not rushing to completion, but staying curious about what was still waiting to emerge.

Art, like life, often asks us to trust that there is more beyond where we think the finish line is.

The Universe continues to evolve, and in many ways, so do I.

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The Universe: The Unexpected Turn

After my conversation with Ajay, I knew I had to go deeper — but I didn’t know exactly how. What happened next surprised even me.

I put down my big brushes, stepped away from the wide washes of color I was used to, and picked up something very different: my oil pastels. Small, fragile, almost insignificant compared to the scale of the canvas in front of me. At 100 inches tall, The Universe suddenly felt even bigger.

Standing in front of it with these small sticks of color in my hand was daunting. I was trading broad strokes for tiny gestures. I was afraid I was setting myself up for endless hours of work without any guarantee I was going in the right direction.

But I began.

Slowly, layer by layer, I started creating these tiny squiggles, marks, and pathways across the entire surface. Over the course of the next year, what emerged was something far more intricate and alive than I had originally imagined — almost like a vast network of energy lines, webbing across the surface. Color met color. Pathways formed. Structures began to suggest themselves.

It became less about controlling the outcome and more about trusting the process. Every inch was touched. Every area had to speak to the whole.

Sometimes you don’t find the painting — the painting finds you.

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A Universe of Color

It’s hard to explain — like giving directions to a place you’ve driven a thousand times. You no longer need the street names — you just know how to get there. That’s me with color. It speaks to me. I listen, and place each shade where it belongs, then watch how it reacts within the composition.

In this piece, I did something I rarely do: I introduced metallic gold oil pastel into the layers. That one small decision became central to the entire painting. It’s subtle, but it glistens. It adds dimension. It catches the light like a hidden star in the larger universe I was building.

The Universe is still a work in progress — and I’m in no rush. Some paintings need time to reveal themselves fully.

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LATELY, I’VE BEEN THINKING…

"Each work of art is a hidden treasure, waiting to be excavated from the unknown depths of the subconscious. To create a work as dynamic as The Universe is one of the greatest challenges — and one of the greatest honors."

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Until next time,