🎶 When the Studio Sings Back

Photo credit: Toni Lovejoy of My Name is Lovejoy

There’s always music in my studio.

Not as background noise, but as a pulse — a steady heartbeat that mirrors the moment I’m trying to capture on canvas.

I grew up understanding the importance of music — how a single note can pin a memory in place. A song can hold a whole season of your life: the ache of a lost love, the rush of a found one, the joy that makes you dance barefoot in the kitchen. Every melody, a map back to a moment.

In our family, we talked in music. Someone would say something — a word, a phrase, a feeling — and suddenly it became a song. My father was a blues singer; my mother’s side, steeped in Irish jigs, honky-tonk, and yes — a little rock ‘n’ roll. I was immersed in this dream of beats and melodies, a world where stories were sung before they were spoken.

When I paint, I don’t just grab a playlist and hit shuffle. I build it — piece by piece — like I’m mixing colors on a palette. Each track has a tone, a purpose, a texture. Sometimes it’s to keep me loose, other times to help me feel something I’ve been avoiding. Some songs pull me into a memory; others help me imagine one I’ve never lived but need to express.

Honestly, I spend almost as much time curating my music as I do figuring out a composition. It’s that essential. It’s part of the process — part of how I hear the story I’m trying to tell.

And if you ever ask, I’ll gladly share my playlists.

They might not strike the same chord in you as they do in me — but maybe, just maybe, they’ll give you a glimpse into how I move through a painting… one verse, one stroke, one note at a time.

🎧 Want to listen along? Drop me a message, and I’ll send you the soundtrack behind the canvas — from the soft hum of Be a Lady to the soulful rhythm of Buffalo Soldiers & Black Cowboys.