Art as a Study of Memory and Motion: My Approach to Painting
As an artist, I’ve always been fascinated by the tension between what we remember and what we forget; how moments blur, change shape, and take on new meaning long after they’ve passed. My work lives in that space. I paint to capture the impressions left behind after the details fade, the energy that remains after the moment itself has moved on. For me, art is not about reproducing reality but about interpreting the emotional residue it leaves.
People often ask how my paintings begin, and the truth is that they rarely start as complete ideas. More often, they emerge from fragments: a gesture, a shadow cutting across a wall, the rhythm of people passing on a street, or the feeling of motion suspended. These impressions build quietly until they demand a place on the canvas. When I finally begin painting, it’s less like executing a plan and more like reconstructing a memory that never sits still.
Where Inspiration Finds Me
My ideas tend to arrive in unconventional ways. Sometimes it’s the unexpected color shift in a late-afternoon sky, or the geometry of overlapping forms in a crowded space. Other times, it’s something internal - an emotion I can’t name yet but can feel pulling at me. I keep these instincts alive by sketching constantly. My sketchbooks are filled with loose drawings, notes, and marks that feel more like a visual language than literal representations.
These sketches are rarely finished compositions. They’re sparks. They give me clues about movement, tension, and balance. When I return to them later, after days or even months, they often reveal ideas I wasn’t ready to see the first time around. That’s when a painting usually begins to take shape.
The Studio as a Place of Discovery
When I enter the studio, I don’t expect certainty. In fact, I prefer wandering a bit; experimenting with marks, layering colors, letting the early stages remain playful and unresolved. These first layers are essential because they hold the raw energy that often drives the entire piece.
My process is intuitive, but it’s also deeply physical. I move around the canvas, rotate it, step back frequently, and let instinct guide when to push forward and when to strip something away. I enjoy the challenge of allowing mistakes to become part of the narrative. A painting feels more honest when it carries its history visibly, even if that history hides beneath the surface layers.
Texture and movement play major roles in my work. I’m always searching for the right balance where the paint feels alive but also grounded, where a bold gesture meets a moment of quiet restraint. These contrasts create rhythm, and rhythm creates meaning.
The Factory Reject - Original Art, Nathan Gibbs
Inviting Interpretation
One of the most fulfilling aspects of sharing my work is seeing how viewers respond. People often tell me my paintings remind them of places they can’t quite name, or moments that feel familiar but distant. I love that. I never aim for a single, definitive interpretation. Instead, I try to create openings - visual cues that allow someone to step into the work and bring their own memory, emotion, or story with them.
Art becomes richer when it lives beyond the artist. When someone finds a personal connection to a piece, it becomes theirs in a way, and that exchange is something I value deeply.
Looking Forward
As I continue evolving my practice, I’ve been exploring new ways of honoring movement, how energy travels through space, how memory shifts when put into form, and how small details can transform the emotional temperature of a piece. I’m always searching for the next idea that surprises me, the next painting that teaches me something I didn’t expect.
Thank you for visiting and for supporting my creative journey. Through this blog, I’ll be sharing studio updates, works in progress, and the thoughts that shape each new piece. I hope you’ll continue following along as I push deeper into the spaces where memory, motion, and art converge.