The Calm of Broken Color

Aah... Impressionists painters ... what I love most ...

What I love most isn’t just the subject matter—it’s the feeling.

One of the techniques that continues to draw me in is something called Broken Color.

Broken Color is created when an artist applies color in small strokes or marks without blending them together on the canvas.

Instead of mixing paint smoothly, the colors are placed side by side and allowed to blend optically—in the viewer’s eye rather than by the brush.

The result is gentle movement. Soft vibration. A quiet energy.

This technique has long been associated with a sense of calm and serenity—perhaps because it mirrors the way we actually see the world, not in perfect blends, but in light, shadow, and subtle shifts.

A classic example comes from George Seurat, who in 1886 developed a form of Broken Color known as Pointillism. Using tiny, distinct dots of color, he allowed patterns to form images only when viewed from a distance

Another Impressionist, Claude Monet, used Broken Color in a different way. In his Water Lilies, he applied a series of small, broken strokes.

When viewed up close, the painting can feel almost chaotic—scattered marks of color with no clear subject.

But then you step back.

And suddenly, everything comes together.

That experience—confusion giving way to clarity—is one of the reasons Broken Color feels so human to me.

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Broken Color in My Own Work

The painting below, Daybreak (30”w x 40”h, original oil), was inspired by this very technique.

In this piece, I achieved Broken Color through a cross-hatching pattern, and at times by scraping my palette knife through thick layers of paint. This reveals hints of color beneath the surface—allowing light and movement to emerge naturally.

If you look closely at the detail image, you’ll notice how texture and color interact. No single stroke tells the whole story.

It’s the collection of marks that creates the mood.

Broken Color invites you to slow down.

To be present.

To trust that not everything needs to make sense all at once.

Notice those textures in the close-up below.

Close up of 'Daybreak'

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I call my style: Sister Impressionism.

ll these years of creating art, and I’ve rarely named what I do.

But if I had to give it a name, I’d call my style Sister Impressionism.

For well over a century, Impressionism has been defined by impasto layers, loose brushwork, and an attentive response to light.

Think Monet.

Think Van Gogh.

Now imagine a younger sibling in that family.

In my work—especially in oil—I often use thick applications of paint, primarily with a palette knife. I reserve traditional brushwork for wandering paths and flatter passages.

While I usually begin with a sense of light—its quality and intensity—very quickly, color takes the lead.

Standing before the canvas, color informs my direction, guiding my hands and heart into an energetic, often surprising final composition.

That lived, responsive experience with color—that’s Sister Impressionism at work.

And perhaps that’s why Broken Color feels so calming.It doesn’t rush resolution.It trusts the process.

And it reminds us that sometimes, stepping back is exactly what brings clarity.

That color experience in the process is my "Sister Impressionism" at work.

Click here to view additional paintings which radiate tranquility from the use of Broken Color.