When Paint Speaks in Words

There’s something about the written word that carries a certain gravity — a presence, a pulse. When I include words in my paintings, it’s not about clarity or storytelling in a traditional sense. It’s about sensation. Vibration. Resonance. The way language can move through the body before it’s even fully understood.

My series Echoes in Script began as an experiment — a quiet nudge to let words enter the visual field without needing to explain themselves. Over time, it became a home for those moments when language wanted to show up not as definition, but as texture. The words that appear in these works are not always legible, not always meant to be read in a linear way. Some are handwritten notes, some are fragmented phrases, others are just the suggestion of a letterform, half-buried in layers of paint.

These words come from many sources. A sentence from a book I’m reading. A verse from a song or a poem. A mantra. A fragment of thought that insists on staying with me a while longer. Each carries a vibration. I believe everything that exists is energy — and when I paint or stamp or scrawl these words into a piece, I’m also imprinting the energy I was feeling in that moment. Even if the words are no longer visible under layers of paint, their frequency lingers in the work, like an echo.

Not every painting carries words. Sometimes there’s no need — the visual language alone is enough. But when they do show up, they’re never random. They are like entries in a journal, anchors of emotion or insight. A memory that felt too important to lose. A page that wanted to stay open.

There’s tension in using language this way. Words are usually tasked with explaining things. But here, they’re invited to stay ambiguous — to slip between clarity and concealment. I like that edge. It mirrors how we often experience communication in real life: incomplete, layered, misunderstood, or felt more than understood.

The surface of a painting, like memory, can hold so much — and the presence of script can anchor or disrupt that surface. A single word might catch your eye and tug at something unspoken. Or maybe it disappears into the color, leaving only its echo. That’s part of the invitation: to look, to sense, and to allow yourself to participate in the meaning-making.

I don’t always know what the words will mean to someone else. And I think that’s the beauty of it. Echoes in Script isn’t about telling you what to think or feel. It’s about offering just enough for you to step in with your own story, your own language, your own resonance.

If this speaks to you, I invite you to spend some time with the pieces in the Echoes in Script series. Let your eyes linger, let your thoughts wander. See what surfaces — a memory, a phrase, a feeling. The words are there, waiting — some to be read, some to be sensed.

Explore the series here.