The Art Always Comes Last

We're in the middle of a kitchen renovation. A nearly-100-year-old home, walls coming down, dust on every surface, decisions stacked on decisions. The particular beautiful chaos of watching something old become something new.

I already know how it ends — long dinners, good conversation, Sunday mornings with coffee. A proper grown-up kitchen. Finally.

And the very last thing on my list? The art.

Not because it matters least. Because it matters most.

Here's what I've come to believe after years of painting and even more years of living with art on my walls: you don't plan for the right painting. You stand in a finished room, feel the light at a particular time of day, sense what the space needs — and something catches your eye and your heart says yes. That one.

I'm not there yet. And I'm not rushing it.

But it did get me thinking about something I feel deeply — the difference between living with a print and living with an original. A print is beautiful. But a print is a copy of a moment. An original painting is the moment. The actual marks, the actual hand, the decision made in a split second to go left instead of right. You can't scan that. You can't reproduce it. It lives in the original and only the original.

Collectors tell me things like the room feels different now. Or I stop and look at it every single day. Or simply — it feels like it was always supposed to be here. I don't think that sounds strange at all. I think that's exactly right.

The right painting doesn't just fill a wall. It anchors a room. It gives a space a soul.

If you're looking for yours, come find it in person this season — at the Chester County Studio Tour (May 16 & 17), the Rittenhouse Square Fine Art Show (June 5–7), or as Featured Artist at Red Raven Art Company all of July.

Come stand in front of the work. That's where it happens.