Why I Rarely Start with a Plan: The beauty of letting a painting find its own way.

One of the questions I’m asked most often is:
“Did you plan all of this before you started?”
The answer is almost always…
No.
Of course, I gather inspiration. I save photographs, sketch ideas, and collect color palettes that catch my eye. But when it comes time to paint, I rarely know exactly where the piece will end up.
I simply begin.
For me, a blank canvas isn’t something to solve—it’s something to discover.
Sometimes the first brushstroke becomes the foundation of the entire painting. Other times, it’s completely covered by the end. Either way, it serves a purpose.
That’s one of the lessons painting has taught me: not every beginning is meant to remain visible.
When I try to control every detail from the start, I often find myself creating something technically correct but emotionally flat. The paintings I connect with most are the ones that surprise me.
A texture I didn’t expect.
A color that wasn’t part of the original idea.
A line that seemed accidental but suddenly made everything else make sense.
Those moments can’t be planned.
They have to be found.
Painting has become an exercise in trust.
Trusting that the next layer will reveal something the previous one couldn’t.
Trusting that uncertainty isn’t a sign I’m doing something wrong—it’s often where the most meaningful work begins.
Some days I spend hours covering areas I’ve already painted.
People sometimes ask if that feels like wasted time.
Not at all.
Every hidden layer adds depth, even if no one ever sees it.
In many ways, I think life works the same way.
We often want a detailed blueprint before taking the first step. We want certainty before we begin. But some of the most meaningful things grow through exploration rather than instruction.
I’ve learned to leave room for unexpected beauty.
To let the painting have a voice.
To accept that perfection was never the goal.
Connection was.
When you look at one of my paintings, you’re seeing the final layer.
What you don’t see are the dozens of decisions underneath it. The colors that disappeared. The textures that were softened. The ideas that changed halfway through.
Those unseen layers are just as important as the ones that remain.
Maybe that’s why I rarely start with a plan.
Because some of the most beautiful destinations aren’t the ones we map out.
They’re the ones we discover by having the courage to make the first mark.