In the early 2000s, a change of circumstances nudged me away from the slow, dignified world of oil painting and straight into the impatient, fast-drying arms of acrylics. Oils had always allowed me the luxury of time — days, even weeks — to push paint around, rethink decisions, and occasionally scrape the whole thing off in frustration.
Acrylics, on the other hand, gave me about three minutes before the surface turned into something resembling colourful plastic.
At first, it felt like trying to have a leisurely conversation with someone who only speaks at double speed. But once I stopped sulking and learned to keep up, I discovered a new energy in the work.
Acrylics forced me to be bolder, quicker, and far less precious — if something went wrong, there was always another layer waiting to bury it.
What began as a reluctant shift soon became a new way of working: one that encouraged experimentation, embraced strong colour, and taught me that sometimes panic can be a surprisingly effective creative tool.
