#37: Pixels and Paint: Why the Experiments Aren’t the End

After sharing the early stages of my new moiré portrait project last week, I’ve found myself deep in a rhythm of printing, overlaying, adjusting — working heavily with Photoshop, acetate, inkjet prints, and layered transparencies. It’s been immersive, exciting, and full of possibility.

But I want to be very clear: this isn’t the final work.

It’s the scaffolding. The map.

My goal — always — is to paint.

When Tools Raise Eyebrows

There’s sometimes a sideways glance when you say “Photoshop” in an art context. A printed image? A digital layer? Acetate? It can trigger that old debate: Is it still art? Is it cheating?

I get it. I really do. There’s a long-standing tradition of painting being seen as the “pure” process — slow, physical, handmade. And in my heart, that’s where I land too. The brush is where I feel most at home. The act of painting is where the real magic happens for me.

But that doesn’t mean the digital stage is less important. It just plays a different role.

Making to Understand

This week has been about learning. I’m printing not because the prints are the final product, but because they help me see. They let me test how the lines land. They help me explore how moiré patterns interact with a face, how spacing and layering affect the viewer’s focus, and where the energy of the image lives.

These digital experiments are sketches — just made with different tools.

I could paint blindly. But I don’t want to.

I want to paint with clarity and intention, with a strong sense of what I’m aiming for. Photoshop helps me get there faster. Printing makes the invisible visible.

The Goal is Always Paint

I’ve already begun thinking about how to translate these experiments into oil paint — how to bring those layered optical tricks into brushwork, texture, and light. That’s the real challenge: not recreating the digital image, but translating its effect in a way that feels handmade and alive.

There’s something thrilling about trying to imitate a mechanical illusion using nothing but a brush and time. It feels ambitious. A little foolish, maybe. But it’s exactly the kind of difficulty I’m drawn to.

The Value of Process

Every painting I’ve ever made has come out of some kind of mess — a sketch, a mistake, a hunch. This project is no different. The acetate sheets, the printed faces, the translucent patterns — they’re steps. Necessary ones. But they’re not the destination.

The art, for me, is in the doing. In the redoing. And ultimately, in the painting.

So if you’ve seen me post layered prints or curious test shots this week, know that they’re part of something bigger. They’re notes. And the music is coming.

.M.

Be real.

Make art.

If you’d like to learn more about my creative process or see my latest work, feel free to reach out or check out the rest of my website.