The Quiet Work of Seeing Light
I’ve been thinking a lot about the in-between moments. The ones you get driving home at the end of the day, or standing in the kitchen while the sun slips behind a neighbor’s roof. Those little pockets where everything gets quieter and warmer, even if just for a second. Somehow the sky is louder, but you’re calmer. You know the feeling.
That’s really where this whole series came from.
Collection of At Last Light paintings strewn about on the desk
Gouache feels like my secret weapon in my art practice. It’s a place just for me to let loose and explore, to be bold and let go. It’s fast and efficient, I can quickly get an idea out of my head or study from photos. It’s not perfect, it has obvious drawbacks from oils, but it keeps my hand moving, my brush mixing colors, my eye exploring compositions. It keeps me painting in a low stakes and honestly fun way. I’ve long wrestled with whether using gouache somehow makes me ‘less than’ or ‘not a true’ oil painter. Like if I’m not painting 100% of the time in oils what am I even doing. I realize now that’s all bs in my head. If anything, I think gouache makes me a stronger oil painter.
“At Last Light” became my way of slowing down enough to notice what the day was giving me. Little 4x6s and 5x7s painted during lunch breaks, after work, on nights where I should’ve gone to bed but didn’t because the sky that day was begging to be painted. These aren’t big, dramatic, “capital A Art” scenes. They’re just the Midwest being the Midwest. Quiet roads. Warm windows. A sliver of orange before everything slips into blue. They’re sketches that go well beyond sketching.
And weirdly enough, these pieces have quickly become some of the most meaningful paintings I’ve made. I look at each of these and get so very excited about their potential for future oil paintings. Like a little wall of potential. It’s empowering. It’s a way of finding my voice as an artist.
I really think I’ve found it.
This series is small and self-contained, fifteen tiny memories, each one a quick breath of light before everything gets dark. They’re not meant to be precious. They’re meant to feel familiar. Like the place you grew up, or the drive home you’ve done a thousand times, or the corner of the sky you always notice without realizing you do.
So yeah. That’s “At Last Light.” A little collection of small moments that reminded me to slow down and look up. I hope they do the same for you.
“It’s a way of finding my voice as an artist.”
