How Metal Leaf Found Its Way Into My World

Artwork by a fellow artist that inspired me to explore metal leaf.

My Long Love for Metallics

For years, metallic paint was my quiet constant. I fell in love with acrylic metallics over a decade ago. Those subtle shimmers caught the light just enough to make a surface feel alive, like it held a secret. They were reliable, forgiving, and always there when I needed a glow that felt personal.

Previous painting done with some metallic acrylic dot details.

The Syros Spark: Metallic Watercolors

Then came the trip to Syros Greece. Wandering the island, I stumbled across metallic watercolors. They were delicate, translucent, and full of unexpected depth. Something clicked. I painted the Greek landscapes, the light on stone, and the quiet animals tucked into ancient architecture. It felt like another layer of my practice opening up. Those pieces are coming soon in the architecture and animal series. They carry that same luminous thread.

First Painting with metallic watercolor.

First Encounters with Metal Leaf

But the real shift happened when I realized metallics weren’t just one thing. Different mediums carried their own versions of shine. Curiosity got the better of me. I finally bought some metal leaf (gold, silver, copper) and decided to see what it could do on canvas.

The “Sad” First Attempt (My Reminder Piece)

My first attempt is still hanging on my studio wall. It’s a messy, unfinished copper leaf piece, dirty in places and incomplete. It is full of mistakes I kept moving around the house to avoid facing. I’d try a spot, step back, hate it, relocate it, and repeat. Now it’s right here in the studio as my reminder: the moment everything changed, even if it looked sad at first. Someday I’ll clean it up and finish that three-quarters-gilded canvas. For now, it stays as proof that beginnings are rarely pretty.

The Breakthrough: Letting the Leaf Become the Subject

The next try landed perfectly. It’s the calming presence piece: a jaguar lounging in a bathtub with a rubber ducky perched on his head like a crown. Instead of gilding the whole background and painting the subject over it, I let the metal leaf become the subject itself. The jaguar glows now, no matter how dim the room or how small the window light. He’s the focus, holding space and drawing you in. That shift from background shimmer to central presence opened a whole new style for me. The animals and forms aren’t surrounded by shine anymore. They are the shine.

Collaboration and Renewed Purpose

Diving deeper, I met my friend Rachel, a jeweler with a studio in Massachusetts. After quitting my architecture firm and traveling the world for a bit, I came back with this clear, renewed purpose: to make art with metal leaf, gold, copper, silver, whatever form it took. I pitched her an idea: portraits on wood canvas with carved-out hollows to hold jewelry. These would be places for people’s most prized possessions to live on the wall, seen every day and held by the art itself. It felt right, like art and life nesting together. We made a few. They went to her show in Massachusetts and sold one. Now they’re back home at the Urban Art House exposition. That collaboration reminded me how materials connect us.

Lessons in Patience and Prep

I didn’t stop exploring. Different adhesives and sealers became their own challenges. Timing the adhesive just right so the leaf would stick without tearing was tough at first. I wasn’t patient. I’d rush, press too hard with a brush while it was still wet, and watch the gold rip away. Then I slowed down. I gave myself time. I realized I wasn’t in a hurry. There were no deadlines and no rush to sell. Just curiosity: How does this medium actually breathe?

I learned things the hard way. On wood, skipping prep means burning through expensive adhesive. Now I seal the wood first with a medium acrylic, then gesso it clear so I can still see the grain and my colored bands underneath. My hands touch the leaf sometimes. Fingerprints leave their mark, and I leave them. It feels genuine, like the exploration showing through.

My Current Process: Leaf First, Paint After

These days, I stage everything. Gold leaf wraps the edges of the canvas first, sealed and ready before any paint touches it. Subjects get their metal leaf layers finished and sealed too. Paint comes after (oil, acrylic, watercolor). Adding leaf on top of dry paint is tricky. The brushing-off can make stray bits cling where they shouldn’t. Maybe one day that’ll be intentional, flaky gold everywhere like fallen light. But for now, it’s leaf first, paint after.

The Joy of Tracing Paper

One small joy is tracing paper. I love drawing by hand from scratch, and I’ve gotten fast at realistic sketches under ten minutes. But tracing feels like being a kid again: meditative, exact, no smudging pencil lines everywhere (I hate that). When I pressure-trace over leaf, even before the acrylic pen hits, you get these beautiful cuts into the metal. Impressions outline the whole subject. It’s like the leaf is already telling the story.

New Explorations: Paper and Watercolor

Lately, I’ve moved some experiments to paper: smaller pieces, more accessible price points, inviting more people in. The texture under the leaf on paper is softer than wood. The shine is brighter somehow. Watercolor paper lets me bring back that Cyprus love for watercolor, layering it over gilded surfaces. The recent gilded animals and architecture series grew straight from there. I’m even thinking bigger paper leaf paintings, framed or mounted on wood, for that gentle, luminous feel.

If This Resonates

If shiny art that shifts with the light speaks to you, if it holds space for belonging and quiet wonder, if it transcends the room it’s in, come see the shop. These pieces are still evolving, just like me. See What’s Available Now →

With light and gratitude,

Tiffany

The Shine That Stayed

Art. Animals. Architecture.

The Shine That Stayed

Arriving Home

Art. Animals. Architecture.