“If you have a great idea or experience, just share it with others so they can enjoy it too.”
In 2016, Nona from the Pranic Healing Center in Kuala Lumpur invited me to give a presentation about my painting practice—and of course I gladly accepted. She created a beautiful announcement, and for about 25 participants I prepared two easels. On one easel, I would paint a piece myself, while the other held a blank canvas for anyone who wanted to try out the techniques I explained, taking turns in an organized way.
I began by explaining for about half an hour what I intended to do. First, I applied a single light color to the background, covering the white canvas—a step that usually takes about fifteen minutes. Then, using a palette knife, I applied small dots of paint across the canvas, thinking carefully about where to place lighter versus darker colors, where to create depth in the sky and on the land, and how the horizon should lighten gradually. In the foreground, I added larger tree or plant-like shapes to emphasize dimension. This dotting process generally takes about an hour.
Next, I playfully blended the dots with the palette knife in quick, intuitive movements—a crucial 10–15 minute period where the character of the painting is established. During this flow, I responded to the often surprising shapes appearing on the canvas. For example, chatting with my housemate Glenn, I noticed formations resembling animals drinking water somewhere in Africa. The challenge is to remain in this flow, rather than reverting to overly meticulous thinking. This painting is part of my collection.
During the workshop, the 25 participants observed that in about fifteen minutes, the painting was already 95% complete. Then came the finishing touches: enhancing the beautiful elements, correcting distractions, and refining with light highlights. I often scrape away top layers to reveal the lighter underpainting, creating sunlight in just the right places. This final refinement usually takes 15–30 minutes, so nearly all paintings—except for rare exceptions—are completed within two to two-and-a-half hours. The workshop, including the lecture, also lasted about two hours in total. The Pranic Healing Center filmed the entire process. Remarkably, the participants’ canvases often resulted in surprisingly successful works as well.
In other paintings, I occasionally place two or three tiny human figures using simple white strokes. Their placement and scale are crucial, showing how small humans are within the vastness of our world. Finally, I inscribe my initials and the year by scraping away paint, photograph the piece, and share the best image on Facebook to record the order and date of creation. I usually give the painting an initial title based on the emotion it evokes. Interestingly, upon later reflection, I often perceive new energies or messages within the work that I could not initially see.
Sometimes, I have even revised initial titles. For example, the painting now titled “Unexpected Appearance / 2015” revealed—twelve days after completion—an unexpected depiction of Jesus. This became for me a personal masterpiece, carrying a profound message: recognition, reward for past efforts, and a blessing for future work.
Similarly, the painting “Five Elements of the Universe with an Unexpected Appearance / 2015” began as a morning piece I was dissatisfied with. That same afternoon, I painted “Five Elements of the Universe with Melting Metal / 2015”, which I found fascinating, especially the drips on the ground reminiscent of my great inspiration, Salvador Dalí, whom I had visited three times at his home in Spain between 1973–1975. Later, the earlier painting gained special meaning when I noticed a kneeling woman in the left center, whom I instantly recognized as a praying Mary—so simple, yet so wonderfully moving.
In “Jungle of Energies / 2016”, I had mentioned the energy sources that shaped the painting. Yet later, I unexpectedly discovered a lion on the right side, gazing toward the center like the king of that jungle. Its character—dominant, calm, and majestic—was astonishing, and I still wonder how it appeared there, as it was only visible from a distance, not from the place where I had been painting. Upon close inspection, one can even perceive a human figure in the lion’s head, and I sense that two more lions might be nearby—the focus, however, remains on this central lion.
All of this has taught me humility: I cannot claim to be a great painter, but I can be deeply grateful for the unseen support that seems to guide these creations. These remarkable occurrences leave me in awe, constantly observing my works for messages they may wish to convey.
This process continues, and I strive to remain modest when interpreting the signals I personally perceive in a painting. Other viewers may notice different signs, and it is often best to simply remain silent—the paintings speak for themselves.
