Gradients

In my artistic process, the gradient has become more than a visual element, it is a philosophy of change. A way of translating emotion into form. A language for the in-between spaces of experience.

When I draw or paint a gradient, I am not merely shifting from one tone to another,  I am navigating transition itself. Every small step between two shades is a pause, a moment of balance between what was and what will be. I am drawn to this slowness,  the predictability of a process that unfolds through patience and control. The gradient gives structure to transformation. It allows change to happen, but never all at once.

For as long as I can remember, I have needed predictability. It is not about rigidity or resistance to change, but about safety, the comfort of knowing what comes next. Repetition, rhythm, and patterns become my way of building stability inside that movement. They are not limitations, but frameworks for focus.

The gradient, for me, is a kind of visual breathing. It embodies this gentle negotiation between order and change.

Predictability allows me to explore the unknown without fear. Within the controlled space of repetition, I can experiment with small shifts,  the thickness of a line, the weight of a shadow, the balance of color. Change becomes manageable, even beautiful, when it moves at a pace that my mind and body can follow. This is why gradients, stripes, and recurring geometric forms appear so often in my work. They are not only compositional choices, but emotional architectures — ways of organizing chaos into rhythm.

Gradients also carry an emotional resonance that goes beyond their visual simplicity. They represent acceptance,  that no emotion, color, or moment exists in isolation. Everything flows into something else, connected by invisible transitions. There is a quiet poetry in that continuity. It speaks of patience, of the beauty of small variations. It reminds me that even when change feels uncomfortable, it can still be gentle.

When I work with gradients, I find myself slowing down, grounding each layer with intention. Through these transitions, I’ve learned that predictability and change are not opposites. They coexist. One makes the other possible. In art, as in life, I search for the balance between the two , a rhythm where I can stay grounded but still evolve.

The gradient, in its soft unfolding, offers that space. It teaches me that even within structure, there is freedom,  and within repetition, endless possibility.