The importance of texture in my work

Texture is something I come back to constantly in my work. It’s not an extra detail I think about at the end or something added to make a surface more interesting. Most of the time, it’s there from the very beginning. It shapes how I build a piece, how I layer materials, and how I decide when something feels finished. Whether I’m working in collage, painting, printmaking, or digital work, texture tends to be one of the clearest threads connecting everything together.

When I first started working more seriously with collage, I don’t think I fully realized how important texture was to me. At the time, I thought I was mostly focused on composition and balance. I was paying attention to color relationships, shapes, layering, and movement across the surface. But over time I started noticing that a huge part of my decision-making came down to how materials felt against each other.

I became really interested in the contrast between surfaces. Smooth magazine paper layered beside rough handmade paper. Torn edges against clean cuts. Matte textures next to glossy ones. Sometimes the physical quality of the material mattered more to me than the actual image printed on it. I’d keep scraps because the paper itself felt interesting, not because I had a specific plan for it yet.

The more I worked this way, the more texture became tied to how I experience making. It slows me down in a useful way. When a surface has variation and resistance, I pay closer attention. I stop rushing through decisions. Instead of only asking whether something “looks right,” I start paying attention to how the piece feels physically. What happens if a rough edge stays exposed instead of being covered? What happens if the surface becomes uneven or layered enough to catch light differently across the page? Those questions usually lead me somewhere more interesting than trying to make everything clean or polished.

I think one of the reasons texture matters so much to me is because it records process. Surfaces hold onto evidence. If I scrape paint back, those marks stay visible. If I sand something down or tear through layers, traces of earlier decisions remain underneath. Texture keeps the history of the piece visible instead of flattening everything into one finished surface.

That’s probably why I’ve never been especially interested in making work that feels too perfect. I like seeing where something shifted direction. I like when earlier layers still push through slightly. Those remnants make the work feel more honest to me because they reflect how making actually happens. Most pieces aren’t created in one clean, confident motion. They’re built through adjustment, uncertainty, revision, covering things up, pulling things apart, and trying again.

Collage naturally encourages this because you’re constantly bringing different surfaces into conversation with each other. Every decision affects not just the imagery but also the physical quality of the piece. A torn edge carries a different energy than a precise cut. A paper that lifts slightly off the surface creates shadow and depth in a way that changes how the whole composition feels.

I also like that collage refuses to behave perfectly all the time. Glue wrinkles things. Papers buckle. Edges warp slightly. Early on I used to fight those things more, but now I tend to work with them instead. Sometimes the accidental wrinkle or uneven surface becomes the most active part of the piece. Texture introduces a little unpredictability, and I think that unpredictability keeps the work alive.

Painting brings in texture differently, but the relationship is similar. I’ve never been very interested in perfectly smooth painted surfaces. I like visible brushstrokes, scraped-back passages, thick paint sitting beside thinner transparent layers. I like surfaces that clearly show they’ve been worked on.

Sometimes I’ll build up paint only to sand sections back down again because I’m more interested in the tension between those layers than I am in the top layer by itself. The surface starts carrying a kind of memory. You can see evidence of earlier choices underneath the final image, and that layering creates depth that flat surfaces don’t really have.

Printmaking changed the way I think about texture too. Processes like collagraph are completely tied to surface. You build textures directly onto the plate and then watch how they translate through pressure, ink, and paper. The final print becomes a record of those physical textures. I love that connection between touch and image, where the material qualities aren’t separate from the composition but are actually responsible for creating it.

Even when I’m working digitally, I still find myself trying to bring texture back in. A lot of my digital pieces include scanned paper, brushstrokes, ink marks, scratches, or photographed surfaces because I don’t want the work to feel too sterile or detached from physical materials. I still want some evidence of touch in there somewhere.

That’s one reason I don’t really separate my digital and analog practices into completely different categories. They feed into each other constantly. Digital work lets me test ideas quickly, manipulate layers, and experiment with composition in flexible ways. Physical materials bring in tactility, resistance, and unpredictability. When the two overlap, the work usually feels more complete to me.

Texture also shows up a lot in the classroom. I talk to students about surface constantly because it’s easy to focus only on imagery or concept and forget that materials communicate too. The physical qualities of a piece affect how people experience it. Changing paper, layering unexpected materials, leaving traces of earlier marks visible…those choices completely change the energy of the work.

One thing I encourage students to do is stop trying to erase every mistake or smooth everything out immediately. Sometimes the strongest parts of a piece are the areas where the process still shows through. Once students start paying attention to that, their work often becomes much more active and personal.

And viewers notice texture right away, even if they don’t realize they’re noticing it. People lean closer to textured work. They slow down. Their eyes move across the surface differently. Even without touching the piece, they can sense the physical layering and material presence there. A heavily textured surface asks people to spend more time with it.

I think that’s part of why texture has stayed so central to my practice over the years. It keeps the work connected to process. It keeps surfaces active. It reminds me that art isn’t just about image-making. It’s also about materials, history, touch, layering, and physical presence.

For me, texture isn’t decorative. It’s structural. It’s part of how the work communicates. Whether I’m layering collage papers, scraping paint, building print surfaces, or scanning handmade marks into digital pieces, texture is usually the thing holding everything together underneath it all.