TRIPTYCH: BENEATH THE SURFACE

Triptych (47" x 15" x 1.5", Acrylic)

Every now and then, I find myself making something I didn’t set out to make. That’s what happened with Triptych.

This piece began as a study in rhythm—three 15x15in canvases lined side by side. I wasn’t trying to say anything in particular at first. But as the layers built up and the lines scored deeper into the paint, the cross revealed itself—not as a literal image, but as a consequence of the process. That felt right. That felt honest.

Each panel stands alone but becomes something more in relation to the others. It’s a trinity, in more ways than one.

Panel One

The first panel on the left pulses with an energy that borders on chaos: bursts of orange, broken by slashes of green, black, and blue. There’s tension in the way the colors fight for space, and yet, at the center, that familiar perpendicular form—subtle, but anchoring—holds it all together.

Panel Two

The center canvas is looser, more fluid—almost playful. Pinks, reds, greens, and violets swirl in what feels like a dance. The cross emerges again, not declared, but discovered. It's embedded, like a fingerprint beneath glass.

Texture and color detail. Panel 2 of Triptych.

Panel Three

The final panel rests in deeper waters: saturated purples, shadows, and a quiet sense of dusk. Yellow and pink peek through like fragments of stained glass at night. The cross is still there—muted, veiled, asking to be found.

This short video gives a closer look at canvas #2.

The tool I used to build these crosses wasn’t a brush. It was a carpenter’s square—rigid, functional, exact. I dipped the square in paint and scored the canvas, again and again, changing colors with each round. This wasn’t decoration; it was construction. The process itself became the image.

And that, I think, is what I keep coming back to—not just with Triptych, but across so many of my pieces. The cross is a recurring motif in my work, not because I want to preach something, but because I’m working through something. Wrestling with faith, form, balance, and what’s hidden beneath the surface. In Triptych, I wasn’t painting a message. I was revealing a structure.

So why write about it now? Because we’re in a time when a lot of things feel fragmented—beliefs, identities, truths. Triptych is about what holds the fragments together. It’s about looking closer. Seeing the through-line. Even when it’s buried. In a world that often feels divided, this piece is my quiet reminder that there’s always something unifying beneath the chaos—if we’re willing to search for it.

That’s the invitation. Not just to view, but to search. To let the color and rhythm draw you in, and then maybe—if you’re paying attention—to find something sacred sitting quietly at the center.

What do you see in the layers of Triptych? How does the interplay of colors and textures resonate with you? Share your thoughts here or tag me on social media—I’d love to hear how this piece speaks to you.