People often ask where inspiration comes from—and for me, it’s never been a single moment. It’s a lifetime of quiet sparks, old books, childhood drawings, and moments of stillness that shaped who I am as an artist.
When I was five years old, I was diagnosed with rheumatic fever. It left me bedridden for six months, forced to stay still at an age when stillness is unnatural. My grandmother, who was also an artist, knew exactly what to do. She handed me pencils and markers—and I vanished into my own world. Drawing became both my escape and my identity.
She claimed me as “hers” after that. She nurtured every spark of creativity she could find—coloring books, art classes, constant encouragement. And at a very young age, I already knew: this is who I am.
Back then, in our home on the Ohio–Pennsylvania border, we had a set of World Book Encyclopedias—massive, heavy things that took up an entire shelf. I kept the “A” volume in my room just for the Art section. I studied John Singer Sargent’s Madame X, Michelangelo’s David, and Da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man like sacred texts. Even at seven years old, I knew I was drawn to form, to beauty, to the classical.
Those early influences still shape everything I do today as a figurative painter and designer. When it came time to study seriously, I chose Florence—the birthplace of the Renaissance—not just for the romance, but for the rigor. I wanted to understand the chemistry of classical art. In Florence, we mixed our own gesso from marble dust, rabbit skin glue, and titanium dioxide—layering history into every canvas.
Today, in my West Palm Beach studio, those roots show up in every brushstroke. I still begin each painting with the eye, whether it’s a portrait, a horse, or a figure. There’s something about getting that one part exactly right—it anchors the rest of the work.
Inspiration, for me, is rarely a lightning bolt. It’s a quiet build-up of memory, study, reverence, and daily practice. It’s the hum of childhood stillness, the guidance of my grandmother, the pages of an encyclopedia, the cool air of a Florentine studio.
I don’t have children. My work is what I leave behind. This is my legacy. And if one day, some kid finds themselves staring into a painting of mine the way I once stared at Madame X—if it opens something in them—then I’ve done what I came here to do.
Explore Sean Rush’s Safari Series in person at the Sean Rush Art & Home private studio on Antique Row in West Palm Beach by reaching out at https://seanrush.com/contact-us/
Or view available works online at https://seanrush.com/