Today we’d like to introduce you to Kirk Dice.
Hi Kirk, thanks for sharing your story with us. To start, maybe you can tell our readers some of your backstory.
I have always been involved in art in some way or another, my whole life, but in my 40s, I took up oil painting. I started by doing landscapes and then moved into a time of exploration, where I tried many different styles and expressions of art. After about ten years of work, I gravitated to the essence of what I want to express.
As a painter and teacher, I am drawn to the quiet poetry of everyday life—the way light dances across autumn leaves, the gentle hush of a harbor at dusk, or the warmth of a family gathered in a simple room. My work is rooted in a deep appreciation for the subtle beauty that surrounds us, often overlooked in the rush of daily living.
Through expressive brushwork and vibrant, harmonious color, I seek to capture moments of tranquility, connection, and reflection. Whether painting serene landscapes, lively street scenes, or intimate family moments, my goal is to invite viewers to pause and notice the richness of their own environments. I am fascinated by the interplay of light and atmosphere, and I strive to evoke a sense of peace and nostalgia in each piece.
At the heart of my practice is a belief that art can help us slow down and reconnect—with nature, with each other, and with ourselves. By transforming ordinary scenes into spaces of wonder and mindfulness, I hope my paintings offer a gentle reminder: there is beauty to be found in every moment, if we are willing to look.
Can you talk to us a bit about the challenges and lessons you’ve learned along the way. Looking back would you say it’s been easy or smooth in retrospect?
My biggest struggle has been finding my expression in my art. The reason it was a struggle is that, unknowingly at first, I was dealing with some heavy mental health issues. Due to a layering of hurt and pain in my life, not just one single event, I went into a phase of severe dissociation. For about 10 years, I had been putting my “self” aside and playing the “proper role” with whoever I was with, including Father, professionally, husband, friend, or whoever. The result was that I no longer knew (and many times still don’t) what I feel, what I like, what I even believe. In my journey back to mental health, painting has been a place I can search out that self, and after about ten years, I feel “me” finally coming through my painting. The biggest challenge is for me to be honest with myself and let “me” be in the painting.
Can you tell our readers more about what you do and what you think sets you apart from others?
I paint the ordinary. The kind of moments that happen in the middle of a Tuesday that nobody thinks to photograph — afternoon light sitting on a kitchen table, a harbor that’s just… quiet, a street corner where a few people happen to be in the same place at the same time without really knowing each other. That’s mostly where I live, as a painter.
I think what I keep coming back to — and maybe what I’m known for, if I’m known for anything — is this idea that the everyday stuff is actually the whole thing. Not a placeholder until something more interesting happens. The cup of coffee getting cold, the light changing, someone just existing in a room. I find that genuinely beautiful, and I think that comes through.
Technically, I work with a lot of texture. Heavy brushwork, layered color — I want you to be able to feel that a painting was made by hand, that somebody was actually in it. Light is probably where I spend most of my time. How it lands, how it shifts the mood of a thing completely.
The work I’m most proud of is the intimate stuff — family moments, quiet figures, the paintings that feel like a memory even if they’re not yours. Those feel the most honest to me.
If there’s a through line in all of it, it’s probably this: slow down. Notice. The world is actually pretty beautiful if you’re not rushing past it. I just try to paint that.
What was your favorite childhood memory?
I grew up in a small town with a car factory down the street from my home. One of my favorite memories is on a summer evening, I’m out riding my scooter (non-motor) up and down the sidewalk. My mother, in our two-story home with a cement front porch, was playing the piano with the windows open. I can hear the music now! And I don’t know why, but I just recall having such a sweet, warm, secure feeling inside.
Pricing:
- I have prints and originals starting at $13
Contact Info:
- Website: https://www.kirkdice.shop
- Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/kirk_dice/
- Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/feelsignificant
