The Floor is the Canvas

2019-2025

A barrage of various incomplete paintings

Acrylic, Mixed Media, Oil, Spray Paint, Krink Pen on canvas/ wood

Welcome to the backstage of the magic. This room is my chaos, my church, my confession booth. Every piece in here is unfinished, overlooked, or not quite ready for the main stage—but each one is a living artifact of the process. And in some ways, that makes them even more honest.

This is where I lose myself. Loud music. Bottles uncorked. Paint flying. Weed lit. No rules. No plans. No apologies. Sometimes I clean my brush by smearing it across a canvas that’s just lying there. Sometimes I step on it. Sometimes a cigarette falls and gets painted over. Sometimes a brush breaks and becomes part of the piece forever. These are accidents turned relics. Footprints turned brushstrokes. Trash turned treasure.

People cringe when they see me walking on my own paintings. They’re afraid to step on them, like it’s blasphemy. But what they don’t realize is, once a painting sells, it gets locked in time—white gloves, gold frames, glass walls. Untouchable. But when it’s mine? It lives. It bleeds. It gets bruised. It gets loved.

There’s something beautiful about that—because just like in life, the more people walk all over you, the more of a masterpiece you become. Every step, every smear, every mark… it tells a story. And I wouldn’t erase a single one.