I’ve always gravitated toward Impressionism, and the more I think about it, the more I realize why.
For me, it’s a big fuck you to the idea that art has to look a certain way to be considered good.
I’m not interested in recreating what a camera can capture. If I wanted a photograph, I’d take a damn photograph.
What interests me is the feeling of being in a place. The light hitting the mountains, the colors shifting across the landscape, the atmosphere, the quiet moments, and those little things that make you stop what you’re doing and just take it all in.
That’s what I want to paint.
Impressionism has always resonated with me because it challenged the rules of what art was supposed to be. Instead of chasing perfection and painting every little detail, artists started exploring light, color, atmosphere, and their own interpretation of the world around them.
They weren’t just trying to document what they saw. They were trying to capture an impression of it.
And that’s where I connect with it.
When I’m out painting plein air, I’m not trying to copy nature down to the last blade of grass. I’m trying to make sense of what I’m experiencing and translate that onto a canvas. Sometimes that means exaggerating a color, leaving out details, using loose brushstrokes, or making a mark that probably wouldn’t make sense to someone expecting a photorealistic painting.
And that’s okay.
Not every tree needs a thousand little leaves. Not every mountain needs every rock painted. Sometimes a few strokes and the right colors can say more than hours of rendering every tiny detail.
I’m a self-taught painter, and I’ve spent years figuring things out through trial and error. I’m still learning, still experimenting, and still figuring out what I want my work to say. But one thing I know is that I don’t want to paint like I’m trying to prove something to someone else.
I want to paint with freedom.
That’s a big reason why I’m drawn to the American West. It’s not just about the scenery. It’s about how I experience these places, the light, the vastness, the quiet, and the way a landscape can make you feel small in the best possible way.
It’s my West. My experiences, my perspective, and my interpretation of the places that keep pulling me back.
I want someone to stand in front of one of my paintings and feel like they’re there. Not because I painted every detail perfectly, but because something about the painting takes them back to a moment they’ve experienced themselves.
Maybe it’s the warmth of a late afternoon sun. Maybe it’s the feeling of standing in the middle of nowhere with nothing but mountains in every direction. Maybe it’s a sky that looks a little exaggerated but somehow feels exactly right.
That’s what I’m after.
I’m not saying realism is bad. There are incredible artists doing photorealistic work, and I respect the skill it takes. It’s just not what drives me.
I don’t need my paintings to look like photographs. I need them to feel alive.
And if that means breaking a few rules, leaving some things unfinished, or putting down a brushstroke that makes someone wonder what the hell I was thinking, so be it.
At the end of the day, I’m not painting to make a photograph with a brush. I’m painting because I have something I want to express, and a canvas is how I do it.
I’d rather someone feel something standing in front of my painting than tell me it looks exactly like a photograph.
That’s why I paint. That’s why Impressionism resonates with me. And that’s the kind of freedom I want to keep chasing.
