Acrylic & Tempera

I work with acrylic and tempera on art cardboard at a large scale (40 × 30 in). The method is built around repetition and removal. I paint a passage, let it set, then return with water and wash parts of it away. Then I paint again into what remains, and wash again—over and over—until the surface starts to carry a history of decisions, losses, and recoveries. The process depends on a material difference I use deliberately: once it dries, acrylic resists water, while tempera stays water-soluble. When the two are mixed in a layer, I’m not only mixing color—I’m mixing endurance. Water becomes a selective tool. It can bite into one area and leave another intact. It can dissolve tempera into a stain while acrylic holds as a kind of structure underneath. That split lets me “destroy” parts of the image without collapsing the whole thing. Because the painting passes repeatedly through water, the surface doesn’t build up the usual tired, over-worked heaviness that can come from too much brushing. Water lifts, drags, and redistributes paint. Edges soften, then sharpen again. Accidents happen, but inside a system: I can push the image forward, pull it back, then rebuild it with a fresher hand. In many ways, this is painting that accepts entropy as a collaborator. Loss isn’t treated as failure; it’s what keeps the image awake. The wash removes certainty and forces the next stroke to respond rather than repeat. Over time the surface reads as “aged,” not because I imitate age, but because the painting actually undergoes it—layers appear, thin out, break, and leave traces.