Some storms arrive loudly. They disrupt, demand attention and leave visible damage behind. Others build slowly and exist beneath the surface, unnoticed by anyone but the person carrying them.

My latest work, Not Every Storm Is Loud, is about that quieter kind of turbulence.

Completed over two weeks on a 1m x 1m canvas using acrylic paint, this new abstract portrait continues my exploration of emotional states through fragmentation and layered colour. Like much of my recent work, it was created using carefully masked sections of frog tape, building the composition piece by piece. Over time, that process has become more than a technique; it has become part of the meaning behind the work itself.

The Process Behind the Painting

The Not Every Storm Is Loud painting was constructed gradually, with each section masked, painted and revealed before moving on to the next. The crisp edges are deliberate. Every boundary is considered.

This method is not accidental. It is an evolution.

Years ago, I worked primarily with stencils and spray paint. Cutting shapes, isolating forms and layering imagery through separation shaped the foundation of how I approached composition. Although the materials have changed, the instinct remains the same. I am still building images through structure, still defining space before allowing colour to occupy it.

The frog tape is, in many ways, a continuation of those stencil days. Instead of cutting card or acetate, I am mapping directly onto the canvas. Instead of aerosol bursts, I am working with acrylics and brushes. But the underlying language of separation and control persists.

The repetition of masking, painting and peeling back becomes rhythmic. It slows the process down and demands patience. There are no shortcuts. Each decision must be committed to before the next layer begins.

That rhythm matters more than it might first appear.

Painting as Structure in an Uncertain World

It would be easy to describe the process as therapeutic, and in some ways it is. However, the therapy does not come from expressive release; it comes from structure.

We live in a time where much feels unstable. The constant stream of information, political tension, economic pressure and social division creates a background noise that is difficult to ignore. Even when we switch off our devices, the sense of uncertainty lingers.

Painting offers a defined space in which I can make deliberate choices.

Within that 1m x 1m canvas, I decide where the boundaries sit. I choose which areas dominate and which recede. If something feels unresolved, I can adjust it. If the balance is wrong, I can recalibrate.

That ability to shape an outcome, however small in the context of the wider world, holds significance.

The structured nature of the Not Every Storm Is Loud painting reflects this desire for order. The clean edges counterbalance the emotional intensity suggested by the colour palette. The composition may appear fragmented, yet it is carefully assembled. There is tension, but there is also intention.

In a world that often feels beyond individual influence, the act of constructing something methodically becomes quietly powerful.

The Visual Language of Not Every Storm Is Loud

At first glance, the painting presents a fragmented portrait. Blocks of teal, blue and muted tones form the face and torso, interrupted by deep reds and dark vertical elements that cut through the composition. Drips fall in controlled lines, suggesting release without complete collapse.

The figure’s expression is ambiguous. The eyes appear heavy, partially closed, while the mouth sits between calm and strain. It is not a scream, nor is it serenity. It exists somewhere in between.

That in-between state is central to the Not Every Storm Is Loud painting.

The red sections introduce intensity, hinting at internal pressure. Yet they are contained within defined boundaries. The darker vertical lines echo rainfall or structural supports, depending on how the viewer chooses to interpret them. The cooler tones provide contrast, offering moments of stillness within the composition.

What interests me most is the balance between composure and fracture. The portrait is not dissolving, but it is not entirely stable either. It holds itself together.

That restraint reflects the title.

Why “Not Every Storm Is Loud”?

The phrase came naturally during the final stages of the painting. It encapsulated what I had been circling around throughout the process.

We often associate struggle with visible signs: raised voices, dramatic moments, public breakdowns. Yet much of what people carry never announces itself in that way. Anxiety can be quiet. Overthinking can be invisible. Emotional exhaustion can sit behind a composed exterior.

The Not Every Storm Is Loud painting acknowledges those internal states without exaggerating them. It does not attempt to dramatise emotion for impact. Instead, it recognises that intensity does not always need spectacle.

Sometimes strength looks structured.

Sometimes turbulence is measured.

Sometimes the storm remains internal.

Scale and Presence

The physical scale of this abstract portrait plays an important role in how it is experienced. At 1m x 1m, the painting occupies space confidently. It is large enough to confront the viewer without overwhelming them.

Standing in front of it, the face feels present. The red fields carry weight. The drips extend vertically with a sense of gravity. The clean edges reveal the time invested in each section.

Larger works create a different relationship between viewer and subject. They demand engagement. The internal storm may be quiet, but it is not insignificant. The scale reinforces that idea.

Evolution in My Abstract Portrait Practice

Over the years, my work has consistently explored contemporary abstract portraiture as a way of communicating emotion. Earlier pieces examined mental overload, fragmentation and the pace of modern life. This painting feels like a refinement of those themes.

Rather than depicting chaos overtly, the Not Every Storm Is Loud painting contains it. The tension is internalised. The structure is more deliberate. The balance between abstraction and representation has become sharper.

The masking process has grown more precise, not simply as an aesthetic choice but as a conceptual one. Each taped section represents a boundary. Each revealed edge marks a decision. The discipline of the method allows emotion to sit within form rather than spilling beyond it.

In that sense, the process and the message are inseparable.

Why I Continue to Paint This Way

When I reflect on why this method remains central to my work, three reasons stand out.

First, it is a continuation of my early stencil-based practice. The instinct to define shapes before filling them has never left. The materials have evolved, but the core approach remains consistent.

Second, the structured process offers a counterbalance to external uncertainty. Within the confines of a canvas, I can create clarity. I can refine, adjust and resolve. That sense of agency matters.

Third, the precision of masking allows emotion to surface without becoming uncontrolled. The clean edges heighten the tension rather than soften it. The contrast between sharp boundaries and expressive colour creates a visual language that feels authentic to how I experience the world.

The Not Every Storm Is Loud painting sits firmly within that language.

Holding the Quiet Storm

Ultimately, this abstract portrait is not about spectacle. It does not rely on explosive gestures or exaggerated expression. Instead, it focuses on containment.

The figure remains upright. The composition remains balanced. The intensity remains present but measured.

That balance reflects a broader truth: not all storms arrive with noise. Some are carried internally, structured carefully behind composed surfaces. They shape us quietly, influencing thought and behaviour without demanding public attention.

For me, painting provides a space where that quiet intensity can be acknowledged and shaped. The masking, layering and refining are not simply technical steps; they are part of an ongoing attempt to bring order to complexity.

Within the square boundaries of a canvas, I can decide how the storm is held.

And sometimes, that act of holding it is enough.