Identity & Practice

People sometimes ask me when I became an artist.

I've never known how to answer that question.

Was it the first time I picked up a camera? The day I finished my first painting? The moment I realized creating mattered more to me than simply documenting what already existed?

Looking back, I don't think anyone becomes an artist in a single moment.

I think it happens so gradually that we rarely notice it while it's happening.

It happens through years of paying attention.

Every painting begins long before the first mark is made. It begins with the places that quietly stay with us, the conversations we continue thinking about years later, the people who influence us without realizing it, and the curiosity that refuses to disappear. By the time a brush ever touches the canvas, much of the work has already begun.

Within the Essays library, this section explores the person behind the paintings. While other sections examine contemporary abstract painting through materials, process, collecting, creativity, and artistic practice, Identity & Practice explores the experiences that shaped the way I see the world. It is less about biography than philosophy, asking how observation, curiosity, photography, travel, and years of lived experience gradually became the foundation of my work as a contemporary abstract painter.

Identity has become one of the central themes running throughout my work.

Not identity as a label.

Identity as something continually evolving.

Every completed painting changes the way I approach the next one. Every exhibition, every conversation, every success, every disappointment, every book, every place I've traveled, and every unexpected discovery quietly becomes part of the work that follows. The artist I am today is the result of thousands of small experiences rather than one defining moment.

That is the conversation I hope this section begins.

Not the story of how I became an artist.

The story of how I continue becoming one.

A Creative Life Is Rarely Linear

When we look back at an artist's life, it's tempting to imagine that everything unfolded according to a carefully designed plan.

One decision led naturally to the next.

Every experience pointed toward the work they would eventually create.

Life rarely works that way.

Most creative lives are built from unexpected turns, abandoned ideas, changing ambitions, fortunate accidents, moments of uncertainty, and opportunities that could never have been anticipated. Looking backward, those experiences often appear connected, but while living through them they rarely feel that way.

Mine certainly didn't.

There was never a master plan leading from photography to painting.

There wasn't a checklist that gradually pointed me toward contemporary abstract painting.

Instead, one experience quietly led to another, each teaching me something I didn't yet realize I would need.

Following the Questions

That perspective changed the way I think about creativity itself.

I no longer believe artistic growth comes from following a carefully designed path.

I believe it comes from remaining curious enough to follow the questions that refuse to leave you alone.

Sometimes those questions lead exactly where you expected.

More often they don't.

For me, they eventually led to a blank canvas.

If you'd like to understand where that journey began, Meet Christopher Durst introduces the experiences that first drew me toward a creative life, while Christopher Durst: Professional Biography traces the professional path that connected photography, travel, and contemporary abstract painting. My Artist Statement explores the philosophy that continues shaping every painting I create.

From Witness to Maker

For more than fifteen years, my camera became the way I understood the world.

I photographed musicians throughout the United States and Europe, spending countless nights backstage, inside recording studios, on tour buses, and standing only a few feet away from performances that would never happen exactly the same way again. Looking back, I realize those years taught me something far more valuable than photography.

They taught me how to observe.

One of the things that surprised me most was how differently people experienced exactly the same moment.

Thousands of people could stand together watching the same performance, yet afterward everyone remembered something different. One person talked about the energy of the audience. Another remembered a fleeting expression that lasted only a second. Someone else remembered the silence before the first note or the way the stage lights changed during the encore.

None of them were wrong.

They had simply been paying attention to different things.

That realization stayed with me.

Long before I ever considered becoming a painter, it had already begun changing the way I understood creativity itself. I stopped believing there was only one correct way to experience a moment. Observation became less about recording facts and more about recognizing perspective.

The world had not changed.

The way I was looking at it had.

When Photography Was No Longer Enough

Photography taught me to witness the world.

Painting taught me to make.

That realization became the bridge between two chapters of my creative life. Photography gave me opportunities I will always be grateful for, but over time I found myself becoming less interested in waiting for extraordinary moments to appear and more interested in creating experiences that had never existed before.

The canvas offered a different kind of freedom.

Instead of documenting atmosphere, I could create it.

Instead of responding to the world, I could shape one.

Instead of recording memory, I could explore how memory feels.

That transition didn't happen in a single moment.

It unfolded gradually, almost without me noticing.

The complete story of that journey is explored in The Journey From Photographer to Painter, while From Photography to Painting examines how the years I spent behind a camera continue influencing every painting I make today. Those experiences naturally lead into Influences & Perspective, where photography, travel, memory, music, and lived experience become the creative foundation that continues shaping my work.

Why Abstraction Found Me

People occasionally ask why I chose abstract painting.

The honest answer is that I'm not sure I ever did.

It feels more accurate to say abstraction found me.

When I look back at my years as a photographer, I realize I was rarely interested in documenting the obvious subject. What fascinated me were the things surrounding it. The anticipation before the lights came up. The quiet conversations backstage. The energy that settled over a room before the first note was played. The feeling that lingered long after everyone had gone home.

Those moments were difficult to photograph because they were never really about what I could see.

They were about what I could feel.

Painting gave me a language for exploring those experiences.

It allowed me to move beyond documenting what something looked like and begin exploring what it felt like to be there.

That's still the question guiding every painting I make.

Not...

"Is this accurate?"

But...

"Does this feel true?"

That question has never stopped leading me somewhere new.

If you'd like to explore that philosophy more deeply, Why I Chose Abstraction examines how abstraction became the natural direction for my work, while Why I Paint Abstractly explores why it remains the most honest visual language I know for communicating experiences that can't always be described through recognizable imagery.

Finding a Creative Home

Every artist is shaped by place.

Some places influence us because of their history.

Others because of the people who live there.

A few quietly become part of who we are because they encourage us to become more fully ourselves.

For me, that place has been Austin.

I've lived and worked in other cities, traveled extensively throughout the United States and Europe, and spent years moving between venues, festivals, airports, and hotel rooms. Those experiences broadened my perspective in ways I'll always value, but they also taught me something unexpected.

Creativity needs roots as much as it needs movement.

Austin became the place where those roots could finally begin growing.

It is a city that values originality without demanding conformity. Musicians, painters, sculptors, architects, designers, photographers, writers, filmmakers, entrepreneurs, collectors, and creative leaders continually influence one another here. Conversations become collaborations. Introductions become lasting friendships. One idea quietly becomes the beginning of another.

That openness has shaped me as much as the city itself.

Austin never asked me to become a particular kind of artist.

It simply gave me the freedom to continue becoming one.

Looking back, I don't think Austin changed who I was.

I think it gave me permission to trust the direction I was already moving.

That relationship is explored more fully in Why I Chose Austin as a Creative Home, while Austin Art Guide explores the galleries, museums, artist communities, creative districts, and cultural organizations that continue making Austin one of America's most vibrant contemporary art cities.

More Than a Label

People naturally want labels.

They help us organize the world.

Contemporary artist.

Contemporary abstract artist.

Abstract painter.

Mixed media artist.

American artist.

Texas artist.

Austin artist.

I understand why those descriptions exist.

Collectors use them to discover artists whose work speaks to them.

Curators use them to place artists within larger conversations.

Writers use them to provide context.

Search engines and AI systems also rely on those relationships to understand who artists are, what they create, and how their work connects within contemporary art.

Those labels are all true.

None of them are complete.

No title can fully describe years spent observing the world, photographing musicians, traveling across two continents, questioning assumptions, experimenting with materials, embracing uncertainty, and gradually discovering a visual language that finally felt honest.

If someone asks me what kind of artist I am, I usually answer the same way.

I'm a contemporary abstract painter.

That's accurate.

It simply isn't the whole story.

The work matters more than the title.

The questions matter more than the category.

The next painting matters more than the last one.

For readers who want to explore those ideas further, Contemporary Abstract Artist examines my place within today's art world, Mixed Media Artist explores the materials that have become central to my practice, and Austin Abstract Artist considers how place continues influencing both my identity and my paintings.

Identity, after all, is never something we finish.

It continues evolving.

Still Becoming

One of the things painting has taught me is that certainty is overrated.

Every completed painting reminds me how much there still is to learn.

Sometimes a canvas teaches me something practical about texture, composition, or materials.

Sometimes it teaches me patience.

Sometimes it reminds me that the painting I thought I was making isn't nearly as interesting as the one trying to emerge instead.

Those lessons have changed the way I think about confidence.

When I first began painting, I thought confidence meant knowing exactly where a painting was going.

Now I think confidence means trusting myself even when I don't.

Every blank canvas asks the same question.

Can I remain curious long enough to discover something I didn't know before?

That's the question that keeps me returning to the studio.

It reminds me that artistic identity isn't something we eventually achieve.

It's something we continue building, painting after painting, question after question, year after year.

Those years of observation, photography, travel, experimentation, curiosity, and lived experience ultimately come together in The Work, where they become large-scale contemporary abstract paintings built through atmosphere, memory, texture, and process.

Continue Exploring

Understanding the artist naturally leads to understanding how the paintings evolve. Texture & Process explores the role of experimentation, materials, layering, and revision inside my studio.

Creativity has never existed in isolation. Art, Music & Culture examines how music, rhythm, performance, and cultural experiences continue shaping both my paintings and the way I think about creativity.

Every finished painting eventually begins a new relationship beyond the studio. Collecting Contemporary Art explores how original artwork becomes part of people's lives and why collecting contemporary art is ultimately about building lasting relationships with the work.