Title: Words Beneath the Paint: The Hidden Layer in My Work.

Sometimes the most meaningful part of a painting is the part you’ll never see.

Before the color shows up before the lines, the shapes, the “wow”, there’s often a quiet beginning in my studio. And in that beginning, I’ll write.

Not pretty. Not poetic. Not for anyone’s eyes.

Just words.

A scripture. A prayer. A sentence that I need to hear again. Sometimes a name. Sometimes a single word like peace, strength, trust, joy. It’s my way of grounding the canvas before the wildness of creating begins.

Why I write on the canvas

Painting can feel like freedom… and it can also feel like risk.

There’s always that moment when a blank canvas stares back and you think, What if I mess this up? What if I don’t have it today?

Writing helps me step into the work with intention instead of pressure.

It reminds me that I’m not trying to perform. I’m showing up. I’m responding to something deeper than my own “good idea.”

Sometimes I’m praying for the person who will eventually own the piece, without yet knowing who they are. Sometimes I’m praying for myself. Sometimes I’m simply naming what I’m carrying.

ELECTRIC GARDEN

A hidden layer that still matters

Here’s the funny thing: most of those words disappear.

They get covered by paint, scraped back, and painted over again. They become part of the underpainting, part of the texture, part of the piece's history.

But even when you can’t read them, I believe they still affect the painting.

Not in a spooky way. Just in the same way, a good foundation affects a house, quietly, invisibly, but powerfully.

There are times when I can actually see faint traces of writing peeking through a thin layer of paint. A fragment. A whisper. Almost like the canvas is reminding me, This mattered.

Art can hold what we don’t say out loud

I think that’s why I love abstract art so much.

It doesn’t always spell everything out,

but it can hold real emotion. Real movement. Real tension and hope in the same frame.

And those hidden words? They’re part of that story.

They’re like my private “first conversation” with the painting.

If you ever stand in front of one of my pieces…

…just know there’s more happening than what you see on the surface.

There’s a history under there.

There’s intention under there.

And sometimes, there’s a prayer under there.

If you’ve ever wondered what makes a painting feel alive, I think part of it is this: it’s not only paint. It’s what was carried into the process.