What's on My Easel — Chad Church

Ophelia-inspired painting on the easel — figure reclining among sunflowers, oil on canvas

Work in progress — oil on canvas, studio, June 2026

June 17, 2026 Work in Progress

Ophelia (Untitled)

Shakespeare's Ophelia drowns. That's the story. She loses her father, loses her mind, and the water takes her while she's gathering flowers.

I've always found that ending hard to sit with. Not because it's tragic — tragedy makes sense. Because it feels like the wrong conclusion for someone in that much pain.

So I changed it.

In this version, Ophelia isn't dying. She's suspended. The sunflowers aren't floating her toward death — they're holding her in something she didn't expect to find at the bottom of her worst moment. A kind of grace. Unearned, unexplained, just there.

I've met a few people who've had that experience. Not rescued. Not fixed. Just — met, in the middle of it, by something they couldn't account for. They don't always have words for it. Neither does this painting, which feels right.

The face is intentionally dissolved. I don't want you to see a person. I want you to feel a state.

Still working on this one. The sunflowers are close. The figure needs another session. The light in the upper left is arguing with everything else and I haven't decided who wins yet.

I'll post the finished version here when it's done.

Close-up process shot — Chad painting the Ophelia canvas outdoors — This is the face of a man who just told himself "one more pass" for the fourth time.

Long shot of Chad painting Ophelia outdoors with reference on an iPad — The Coke is load-bearing. The paper towels are structural. The painting is fine.

Chad in the studio working on another piece, Ophelia canvas visible — This is what day three looks like. Day one had more optimism. Day three has better color.

Bad day. Hit play on some reggae. Suddenly everything was fine. This is not a painting tutorial — it's a coping mechanism.

"First, do something stupid" — a studio process video

I was painting Ophelia live at the Denver Gallery of Fine Art — beautiful garden space, a fountain, the whole setup. They had lined up live music. I figured I could just pretend I was painting in a quiet room with nice ambiance.

Then I heard what I thought was the band warming up. It sounded so bad I genuinely wondered if they were cleaning their instruments. Then I realized it wasn't the band at all. It was a group of protesters who have apparently been running a noise campaign against the coffee shop next door for the last five years. Deliberately obnoxious music. As a feature, not a bug.

I made a decision. I was in New Orleans now. All the musicians were just a little loose, a little raw, playing something I didn't quite understand yet. The painting got better after that.