Painting as Self-Discovery - A Conversation Between my Subconscious and the canvas
The Mirror That Screams
When I paint, it’s like staring into a mirror that will not shut up. Every brushstroke is me meeting parts of myself I didn’t know I was carrying. Sometimes it’s ugly-ish, sometimes it’s beautiful, sometimes it’s both at the same time, and ngl, it always catches me off guard. Fear, desire, frustration, longing, happiness rise up from somewhere deeper than conscious thought, like the sun on the East Coast (so beautiful btw, everyone should wake up once in their life to watch the sunrise on a beach specifically).
The canvas does not judge, it just reflects.
I don’t always understand what I’m seeing right away. But being confronted with it forces me to look at parts of myself I unintentionally avoid. That tension, that discomfort, that surprise, that’s the heartbeat of every piece I make. The canvas shows me versions of myself I wouldn’t notice in a regular mirror. Colors, shapes, patterns, symbols appear without planning, revealing things I didn’t know were there.
Hopping in the queue
My process is instinctual. I call it hopping in the queue. Art block is simply just waiting in a lobby with millions of other artists. Lobby music blasting. Some doodle. Some sing. Some dance. Me? I write, I pace, listen to music, or I sit with ideas until my turn comes. Then when its my time I step up, and my subconscious takes over. I don’t plan. I don’t think. Everything just emerges naturally, spontaneously.
Sometimes it surprises me. That is my subconscious talking. The part of me that knows more than I do, that carries truths I cannot articulate. Viewers feel it even if they don’t consciously get it.
They resonate with the emotion, the instinct, the energy.
Flow State
Once I hop into the queue, I almost instantly hit flow state. Theres one rule and it is simply that you cannot control. It’s like grabbing a roll of toilet paper and pulling it in one long motion until it stops on its own. Then when it’s done, you replace the roll. Am I toilet paper? Yes? Maybe? Hehe. Anyways. No breaks. No plans. Just movement.
I usually feel a little shift in my body , energy wise before I start, almost like something inside me saying, “alright, NOW.” If I try to paint without that feeling, nothing works. My hands literally do not cooperate. But when my turn in the queue comes, everything falls into place. My hands move before my mind catches up.
While I am in that state, I DO NOT question anything I put down. Later, when I step back, I notice hidden things I made without meaning to. Patterns, little symbols, hands that show up again and again like they are trying to tell me something. My paintings start feeling alive, like they literally separate themselves from me.
I am them, but they are not me. They grow in their own direction and speak in their own way. Painting from flow still has purpose, but it is not about performing. It’s about letting the real message reveal itself instead of trying to decode it ahead of time.
Letting Go of Control
Painting is my defense against the illusion of control.
The moment I pick up the brush, I surrender. My subconscious screams, my conscious mind takes notes. Sometimes they fight, me vs me, conscious vs instinct, mind vs canvas.
Y’all ever seen someone get jumped or been jumped? ( if you been jumped that’s crazy , you deserve compensation, fr im sorry..)
Every brushstroke is a negotiation. I wrestle with what to leave, what to emphasize, what to hide. The colors flow, the textures respond, and I follow. I do not try to force meaning, but meaning finds me anyway. Every piece becomes a dialogue between who I think I am and who I actually am. That tension makes the work feel alive, it makes it raw, it makes it real.
The canvas always has the last word.
It exposes shadows, celebrates chaos, and sometimes drags me into truths I was not ready to see. Losing control feels like freedom, and freedom feels like honesty. Sometimes I win. Sometimes I lose. But I always learn, and the canvas never lies.
Reflection and Self-Discovery
When the painting is finished, I step back and really look at it. Sometimes it surprises me. Sometimes it shocks me. Most times it comforts me. Taking that moment to study it helps me understand myself a little more.
Painting became a conversation with myself before I even realized I was having one. It goes beyond emotion or therapy. It is a way of learning myself. The more I trust this process, the more I see how each canvas maps out my inner world. It shows where I have been, what I am sitting with, and sometimes even where I might be heading next.
Every piece is a trip inward. Every painting teaches me something I did not expect.
