Why I Paint People As I Listen

I don’t begin portraits by asking how you want to look, I ask you to tell me about yourself.

Then I listen. 

I listen to how you speak, where your voice softens, where it speeds up, where it holds. I listen for joy, hesitation, humor, grief, pride — not to label them, but to feel their shape.

Listening is not passive in this process.

It’s an act of care.

When I paint, I’m not trying to capture a moment or a likeness. I’m translating presence — the emotional light that comes through when someone feels heard without interruption or judgment.

That’s why abstract portraiture works so well for this kind of work. It doesn’t flatten you into a single expression or freeze you in time. It allows complexity. Contradiction. Movement. Layers.

Some people come to this process wanting to commemorate a chapter — a family moment, a relationship, a transition, a completion of a project or a phase of life. Others arrive simply curious. All are welcome.

What often surprises people is how seen they feel before the painting is finished.

The artwork is a lasting object, yes — but the experience of being listened to deeply is part of what gives it weight. That’s the part that lingers.

I paint people through listening because everyone deserves to be witnessed with care — and because color can hold what words sometimes can’t.

If you're curious what it might feel like to be listened to in this way, the intake form is where that process begins. From there, we'll see together whether an abstract portrait feels like the right next step.