Double-Edged Sword

December 25, 2024

In the world of art, style often holds a sacred place. It's that unique signature that identifies an artist, the mark that tells you who created it the moment you lay eyes on it. From Picasso’s Cubism to Van Gogh’s swirling brushstrokes, style becomes a personal brand, a means of defining not just the work but the very identity of the artist behind it.

But what if, instead of this structured, recognizable approach, an artist moves through their work like a river that can never stay in one place? What if the very notion of style is limiting, a cage rather than a vehicle for expression? This is the question I ask myself when I think of my own journey as a painter. Perhaps, in some ways, I am a painter without style.

Style: The Double-Edged Sword

Style is powerful—it gives an artist a sense of permanence. It becomes the lens through which people view their work, often translating a sense of mastery and authority. It’s comforting for both the artist and their audience. The moment a viewer recognizes an artist’s style, they can almost predict what the next piece will look like, what techniques will be used, what emotions will be conveyed.

But this permanence can also be a trap. When style becomes rigid, when an artist locks themselves into a single mode of expression, they risk losing the spontaneity and freshness that initially inspired their creative journey. There’s a sense of stagnation when every brushstroke feels preordained, when every piece fits neatly into a pre-determined formula.

I’m not here to dismiss the value of style—it has brought us some of the most iconic pieces in art history. But I do question whether it's necessary for every artist to find their "style" and, perhaps more importantly, if it’s possible to be free from it.

Fluidity of the Painter Without Style

I often feel like a painter without a fixed identity. I can't seem to settle into a singular, defined style. I move too much, thrash around too freely in my practice. You might see me in one place, but by the time you blink, I’ve already shifted, already changed. The painting you see is no longer a reflection of where I was when I started—it’s an echo of where I am now.

This fluidity might seem like a flaw to some. "But you need a style," they might say, "so people will know who you are." In the conventional art world, where branding often goes hand-in-hand with reputation, not having a distinct style can seem like a missed opportunity for recognition. Yet for me, this constant movement is both my freedom and my rebellion.

I don't want to be fixed, pinned down, or confined to one way of seeing the world. The world is never static, and neither is the way I perceive it. One moment, I might be experimenting with bold, broad strokes, capturing the chaos and intensity of a fleeting emotion. The next, I might slow down, exploring the quiet subtleties of color, texture, and light. To fix myself into one approach would be to deny the organic flow of life and creativity that pulses through me.

Beauty of Being "Elsewhere"

This isn't about being lost, though. It’s about being everywhere—constantly shifting between states of being, constantly questioning, constantly evolving. The artist who has no style isn’t directionless; they are free to move in any direction they choose. They may start a painting with one idea in mind, but that idea may evolve halfway through, taking on a life of its own.

In a sense, I’m always “elsewhere”—a little ahead of my own brushstrokes, a little beyond the canvas. You may catch a glimpse of what I’m doing, but it’s already changing by the time you get there. My paintings aren’t about creating a definitive representation of something fixed; they are about capturing the ephemeral nature of experience, the shifting nature of thought, and the fluidity of emotion.

Maybe, for me, that is the style. The style is the absence of a style, the refusal to be bound by expectations, the embrace of a constantly evolving vision. The act of painting becomes not a practice of repetition but one of discovery—of moving through spaces, of questioning, of never settling. And perhaps that is where the true beauty lies: in the freedom of perpetual change.

Letting Go of the Need for Definition

Maybe the desire for a fixed style comes from the same place as the desire for control. But true artistry, for me, lies in embracing the unknown. It’s in the willingness to not be confined by the predictable. It’s about acknowledging that I am not the same person today as I was yesterday, and neither is my work.

Perhaps I am not a painter without style at all. Perhaps I am a painter whose style is simply to never stop changing. The moment I try to capture it, it slips away. And that, I think, is where the magic happens.

So if you find yourself looking at my work and wondering, "What is his style?" I would say this: my style is that there is none. And in that absence, there is infinite possibility.