Sometimes, in the middle of a painting—whether abstract or figurative—I’ll make a brushstroke or a mark that wasn’t anticipated or planned. In those moments, I often choose to let small discrepancies remain. An eye meant to be brown might appear blue because of a single, impulsive stroke. What began as an accident quietly becomes part of the work’s identity.
This happens more often than one might think. It can be something as subtle as a stray brush bristle embedded in the paint or a slight imbalance that wasn’t corrected. Although these details were never intentional, I’ve found they can add a sense of intimacy to a piece. They introduce evidence of the hand, the moment, and the process. I imagine many artists encounter these situations; the real question is how many choose to erase them—and how many allow them to stay.
I was reminded of this while watching a video from a Vincent van Gogh exhibition from over a decade ago. The discussion focused on one of his early seascape paintings. Conservators noted that weather records from the day it was painted showed strong winds, which caused fine sand particles to embed themselves in the wet oil paint—something entirely unavoidable under those conditions. In another instance, while painting outdoors, a grasshopper became trapped in the paint layer and remains there to this day.
Details like these make paintings feel profoundly human. They create a direct connection between the artist, the environment, and the moment the work was made. While some viewers may see these elements as flaws or errors, others may recognize them as quiet traces of reality—proof that the work was created by a living, breathing person in a specific place and time.
All artists make mistakes. Some feel compelled to correct every imperfection, while others choose to let certain discrepancies remain. I experienced a similar situation several years ago with a small abstract painting that was left to dry. At some point, a mosquito landed on the still-wet oil paint. Months later, when I revisited the work, I noticed the tiny insect embedded in the surface. I chose to leave it. It didn’t detract from the painting; instead, it became part of its story—an unplanned detail woven into the history of the piece.
In the end, these subtle accidents remind me that art doesn’t need to be flawless to be meaningful. Sometimes, it’s the imperfections that make a work feel alive.
– Blair