The Nervous Hand and the Hidden Mind: A Painting’s Unexpected Story

Art has a way of revealing more than we intend. Sometimes, we start a painting with a clear vision. Other times, we dive in with nothing but instinct and energy. My latest piece began with the latter - just movement, texture, and a restless urge to create.

At the time, I wasn’t thinking about meaning. I wasn’t searching for a theme or an image. I was simply working - layering, adjusting, reacting. But there was something else present too: nervousness. Not anxiety, not fear - just a quiet, persistent energy running through my hands, guiding my choices.

It wasn’t until later, when I stepped back and really looked at what I had made, that I saw it: a neurological mesh. A web of interwoven nerves, tangled yet intricate, as if hiding memories beneath its surface.

It was an odd realization. The painting had already been finished, yet now it seemed to speak in a language I hadn’t fully understood while making it. Was it reflecting my state of mind in the moment? Or was it uncovering something deeper - memories, sensations, thoughts buried beneath the conscious act of painting?

I decided to leave it as it is. It doesn’t need more. The piece holds a tension between what is visible and what remains obscured, just like memory itself. We don’t always know what we are expressing in the moment, and perhaps that’s the beauty of creating intuitively. Meaning is not always constructed; sometimes, it emerges.

Have you ever looked back at something you’ve made and only then realized what it was truly about?

Where Memories Hide,

acrylic on canvas, 50 cm x 70 cm, 2025.