When a painting sells, there’s always that mix of pride and panic. Pride because something you created spoke loudly enough for someone to want it in their life. Panic because the studio suddenly feels a little emptier. Like you’ve lost a piece of your rhythm.
I sometimes respond by painting another from that same series. It’s not because I want to repeat myself; it’s more like refilling a space that’s been left open. Still, I wonder if that’s a quiet form of self-preservation by topping up what already works.
Young God sold this week and is heading to the U.S. It’s one of those pieces that feels like it has its own heartbeat, and I can understand why it resonated. But here I am again, standing in front of a fresh canvas, making something that speaks the same language. Not out of habit, but necessity. I need the income to keep painting. Not to franchise the work or slap it on placemats, but to stay in the act of making.
The irony is, my paintings don’t translate well as prints. They lose something when flattened, as if their pulse stops. They’re best as one-off originals that can’t be mass-produced or neatly repeated. Maybe that’s the point.
So yes, sometimes I top up what works. But only so I can afford to keep reaching for what doesn’t. Yet.