What the Grateful Dead Taught Me About Painting Part 1

 

I discovered the Grateful Dead when I was twelve or thirteen years old. It may sound excessive, but I honestly don’t think I would be the same person today had I not stumbled across their music. Their influence reaches far beyond my playlists, they’ve shaped how I approach creativity, my work as an artist, and even how I move through life.

For anyone unfamiliar with the Grateful Dead, they were far more than a band. They embodied curiosity, collaboration, improvisation, and a willingness to follow the music wherever it wanted to go. Every performance was an exploration. There was no formula, no perfect version to recreate, only the shared pursuit of something authentic.

As a contemporary Canadian artist, I’ve spent years wondering how to define my work. Is it abstract? Expressionist? A blend of both? Does it belong neatly within a category at all?

Eventually, I realized I was asking the wrong question.

I paint exclusively while listening to live Grateful Dead shows. Just like the music, I never know exactly where a painting is going to end up. Sometimes it begins with a memory from a walk in nature. Sometimes it’s inspired by an incredible jam that seems to dissolve time. Whatever the starting point, I trust the process to take me somewhere worth following.

My paintings unfold much like a live performance. Layers appear, disappear, and re-emerge. Marks are covered only to become part of the visual history beneath the surface. Rather than forcing an outcome, I try to respond to what’s happening in front of me. That’s where my creative process feels most honest.

“Inspiration, move me brightly.”

And it always does.

For years I felt pressure to decide what kind of artist I was. Abstract. Abstract expressionist. Folk. Whimsical. But the more I painted, the more I realized that creativity doesn’t thrive inside neat little boxes.

Music certainly doesn’t.

Some nights call for bluegrass. Others need an acoustic set. And sometimes you simply have to let the band wander into the unknown.

Maybe life is the same way.

I don’t paint for people looking for perfection. I paint for people who crave adventure, who find peace in nature, who believe curiosity is worth protecting, and who know that the best moments in life are often the ones we never planned.

Last Saturday I spent the evening dancing at a local Grateful Dead tribute show.

The band was wonderful.

But the real magic happened during the second set.

They stopped worrying about getting every lyric exactly right (after all, it’s the dead). They stopped trying to recreate something. Instead, they surrendered to the moment and simply played what they felt.

That’s when the room changed.

The music became alive.

That’s the feeling I chase every time I step into my studio.

Whether I’m creating an original painting rooted in abstract expressionism or allowing recognizable forms to emerge from the layers, my goal is always the same…to translate that feeling of freedom, movement, and joyful exploration onto the canvas.

In a world that constantly encourages us to become more productive, more polished, and more predictable, painting reminds me to do the opposite.

To stay curious.

To trust the process.

To let go.

Long after the music ends, that spirit remains.

It’s the same spirit I hope lives quietly beneath every layer of paint.