The Artist Behind the Canvas
Tomas Elray is a painter based in Santa Fe, New Mexico. Born in Cleveland and raised between city sprawl and desert road trips, his work reflects a push and pull between structure and chaos. Before diving into art full time, Elray spent his twenties working in commercial design and odd jobs bartending, warehouse shifts, a brief stint as a mail carrier each stint feeding the way he thinks about human rhythm and space.
He came to abstract painting late, in a cluttered shared studio where he was originally commissioned to do type based murals. At some point, the words fell away and the leftover movements slashes, loops, chromatic bursts felt more alive than the messages themselves. He started exploring color relationships first, then density, then restraint. Early influences include Franz Kline, Hilma af Klint, and the Brooklyn street posters he grew up seeing half torn and rain smeared on utility poles.
Abstraction became his full language after a failed gallery show five years ago. He scrapped the representational work three days before install and hung raw, gestural canvases instead. Critics called it risky. Some called it lazy. But for the first time, the work felt honest. Since then, he’s leaned into that recognition: that painting doesn’t have to explain itself. It just has to move.
The Method in the Mayhem
In the chaos of color and gesture, this artist stays grounded by knowing exactly what tools serve the work. Acrylic is the go to medium fast drying, flexible, and responsive. Surfaces vary: raw linen for its tooth and resistance, stretched canvas when scale matters, and, less traditionally, sanded plywood or salvaged metal panels. It’s not just about effect, but memory how a surface holds a mark, or how it pushes back. Sometimes, the artist works with charcoal or spray enamel as underlayers, letting the grit remain visible through softer flourishes.
Take the piece titled “Rift No. 4.” It started as a scribble in a train station sketchpad. Months later, that shape half crack, half contour reappeared on a 4×6 panel. The artist began with washes of ink, then scraped on acrylic with a notched trowel. A section of rusted wire mesh was sealed mid layer. From there, rapid decisions followed slower ones: masking off quarters, rotating the canvas between sessions, dripping paint with a turkey baster.
There is method, but no map. Some marks are planned. Others arrive in the moment, born of instinct or accident. The artist describes the process like building scaffolding enough to climb, not enough to box yourself in. There’s a moment in each piece when the work resists, tries to leave you behind. That’s where structure gives way to spontaneity where the real painting starts.
Challenges in Abstract Expression
Abstract art tends to make people uncomfortable. It doesn’t give easy answers, and that’s the point. For artists working in this space, part of the job is navigating misread assumptions. To the untrained eye, a piece might feel random or indulgent; to the artist, every stroke is a decision, every color a sentence. The gap between intention and interpretation is wide and not always meant to be bridged.
Maintaining emotional authenticity is another tightrope. The work often comes from a raw, internal place, but once it hits a gallery wall, it becomes subject to academic critique, social metrics, and market forces. The challenge is in staying tied to that original pulse while allowing the work to be seen and shaped by others.
And then there’s evolution. Artists outgrow phases. They find new rhythms. But if the shift feels too abrupt, it can alienate collectors, gallerists, or loyal followers who expect certain visual cues. The trick is to keep moving forward without snapping the thread of identity. Style isn’t a costume it’s something grounded in habit, muscle memory, philosophy. True evolution honors that foundation while pushing it somewhere new.
Thoughts on the Abstract Art Landscape in 2026
The digital tide has fully soaked traditional art mediums and abstract painters aren’t exempt. While some purists still swear by raw canvas and oil sticks, younger painters are building layered compositions with Procreate, AR filters, and AI generated sketches as jump off points. It’s not about replacing the tactile process, but injecting new tools into the studio. Pixels and pigment are mixing more freely than ever.
Collectors, meanwhile, are split. There’s a steady interest in digital leaning abstraction pieces that feel cross platform or conceptually native to the digital age. But tactile work still holds power. Especially when it feels like a counterweight to the screens we live in. The key trend: collectors are chasing work that’s emotionally direct and contextually rich, whether it’s minimalist or messy, software born or studio built.
Globally, abstract artists are feeding into wider creative currents. You’ll find cross pollination with movement arts, graphic design, and even climate activism. The painter in Berlin using recycled plastic sheets as canvas isn’t just noodling around with aesthetics she’s dialoguing with environmental artists in Indonesia. Abstract art isn’t siloed anymore. It’s in conversation: with the moment, with other practices, with the world.
If you’re looking for how figurative work is evolving in parallel, check out How This Portrait Artist Brings Subjects to Life.
Advice for Emerging Abstract Artists
One of the biggest mistakes young abstract painters make is trying to impress before they understand their own center. They chase trends, mimic better known artists, or over intellectualize too soon. The result? Work that looks polished but feels hollow. Abstraction only clicks when it’s backed by something lived an experience, obsession, or question that keeps scratching at you. Avoid forcing depth. Instead, stay honest, even if the canvas looks awkward at first.
Techniques? Start small but be rigorous. Set constraints limited palettes, a single mark making tool, a recurring shape and see how far you can stretch them. Consistency like this builds voice over time. For visibility, show the process, not just the result. Behind the scenes photos, messy sketches, even failed pieces these build connection. People don’t just want beautiful art; they want to understand why it exists.
And for longevity? Ditch the idea of arrival. Painting isn’t a ladder you climb, it’s a loop you circle. Some seasons you grow fast, others feel static. That’s fine. Keep working. Get better at asking sharper questions and letting answers show up on the canvas slowly. Don’t chase pace chase clarity. That’s how you make work that lasts.
What’s Next for Their Work
The next year looks anything but quiet. The artist is currently preparing a solo show slated for fall 2026 in Berlin, where they’ll reveal a new series built from salvaged industrial materials. It’s a shift that keeps one foot in the studio and one in the street texture heavy, raw, and intentionally unslick.
There’s also talk of a collaboration with a sound designer, building immersive installations that respond to motion and noise. Think abstract painting that doesn’t just hang on a wall it reacts. They’re experimenting with AR add ons that let viewers explore digital overlays via phone or headset, blending analog emotion with modern tech.
That leap away from the traditional canvas is deliberate. As they put it, “We don’t walk around seeing the world in neat rectangles.” Public space, especially abandoned or overlooked areas, might hold the next body of work. They’re scouting locations. Nothing locked in yet but something big is brewing.
As for why painting still matters in 2026? Their answer is simple: “Because it slows time down. With so much being automated, rushed, and optimized, a brushstroke still demands presence. You can’t fake that.”