From Rock Photography to Large Scale Abstraction

It Still Feels Unexpected

If you had told me twenty years ago that I would eventually become a painter, I probably would have laughed.

At the time, I was carrying cameras, not paintbrushes.

My days revolved around concerts, photo shoots, tour buses, backstage hallways, festivals, recording studios, and long drives between cities. I was immersed in a world built around music, culture, creativity, and constant movement.

Painting was nowhere in the plan.

At least that's what I thought.

Looking back now, I can see that the path from rock photography to abstract painting was not as unlikely as it seemed.

In many ways, I have been exploring the same ideas all along.

The tools simply changed.

A Front Row Seat to Creativity

One of the greatest gifts photography gave me was access.

Not access in the traditional sense.

Access to people.

Access to stories.

Access to creative lives.

Over the years, I had the opportunity to work with artists at every stage of their careers. Some were household names. Others were just beginning to find their audience. What interested me was rarely fame or success.

It was the creative process.

I loved being around people who were building something.

Musicians writing songs.

Artists developing ideas.

Creatives chasing a vision that only they could fully see.

There is a certain energy that exists around people making meaningful work. It is difficult to describe, but once you experience it, you recognize it immediately.

I spent years surrounded by that energy.

Eventually, I wanted to create from that place myself.

More Than the Photograph

People often assume photography is about documenting what happened.

Sometimes it is.

The longer I worked, however, the less interested I became in simply recording events.

I became fascinated by everything surrounding them.

The anticipation before a performance.

The quiet moments after.

The atmosphere inside a room.

The feeling of a place.

The emotion that lingered long after the event itself was over.

Those were the things I found myself chasing.

Not the obvious moment.

The experience surrounding it.

Without realizing it, I was already moving toward abstraction.

I just did not have the language for it yet.

The Things That Stay With You

Photography taught me something important.

Most experiences do not stay with us as images.

They stay with us as feelings.

Ask someone about a memorable concert from twenty years ago and they may not remember every song that was played.

They will remember the energy.

The atmosphere.

The people they were with.

The feeling of being there.

That realization stayed with me.

The more I thought about it, the more interested I became in the emotional residue experiences leave behind. I wanted to explore the things that remain after the details begin to fade.

Painting gave me a way to do that.

Leaving the Camera Behind

The transition did not happen overnight.

There was no dramatic moment where I decided to stop being a photographer and become a painter.

The shift happened gradually.

Curiosity led to experimentation.

Experimentation led to exploration.

Exploration eventually became commitment.

What surprised me most was how familiar painting felt.

The medium was new.

The questions were not.

I was still paying attention.

Still observing.

Still trying to understand why certain places, people, and experiences stayed with me.

The process simply became more open.

Photography asks you to respond to the world.

Painting allows you to respond to your experience of the world.

That distinction changed everything.

Learning to Trust Uncertainty

Photography often rewards decisiveness.

The moment happens.

You either capture it or you don't.

Painting introduced me to a completely different rhythm.

A painting can take weeks.

Months.

Sometimes longer.

There is room for uncertainty.

Room for mistakes.

Room for unexpected discoveries.

At first, that freedom felt uncomfortable.

Over time, it became one of my favorite aspects of the process.

The painting does not arrive fully formed.

It evolves.

It reveals itself gradually.

The work becomes a conversation rather than a destination.

That uncertainty keeps me engaged.

Every canvas still teaches me something.

The Influence Never Left

Although my focus shifted from photography to painting, the influence of those years never disappeared.

I still think about atmosphere.

I still think about rhythm.

I still think about movement, tension, energy, and human experience.

The years spent documenting musicians and creative communities continue to shape how I approach a blank canvas.

The music may no longer be visible.

The influence remains.

The travel remains.

The conversations remain.

The observations remain.

All of it continues to find its way into the work.

Why Large Scale?

One of the questions I am asked most often is why I work large.

The answer is connected to everything that came before.

Music is immersive.

Photography can be immersive.

The environments that shaped my life were immersive.

I wanted the paintings to be immersive too.

Large-scale work creates a physical relationship with the viewer. The painting becomes something you experience rather than simply observe.

You move through it.

You engage with it.

You become aware of your own presence in relation to it.

That sense of immersion interests me as much today as a great live performance interested me years ago.

The medium changed.

The desire to create an experience did not.

A Different Stage

For a long time, cameras were how I navigated the world.

They gave me a reason to explore, a reason to travel, and a reason to pay attention.

I remain grateful for every experience photography provided.

It shaped me in ways I am still discovering.

Painting, however, has become a different kind of stage.

A place to explore atmosphere rather than document it.

A place to investigate memory rather than record a moment.

A place to respond to experience rather than simply witness it.

The Journey Continues

I do not see photography and painting as separate lives.

I see them as part of the same journey.

Photography taught me how to observe.

Music culture taught me about energy and community.

Travel taught me perspective.

Painting gave me a place to bring all of those influences together.

When people look at my work today, they are not seeing a departure from everything that came before.

They are seeing the continuation of it.

The camera led me here.

The experiences led me here.

The curiosity led me here.

The canvas simply became the next chapter.

And like every chapter before it, it begins with paying attention.