Acrylic
"Acrylics taught me how to build a thought…” Xander Jefferies
Xander's approach to acrylics
“Acrylics taught me how to build a thought… How to be profound” Xander Jefferies
Acrylics came to me later than watercolour, but they changed the way I think about making an image. If watercolour taught me to listen, acrylics taught me to construct—slowly, patiently, layer by layer. They’re a different kind of quiet. Not the fragile quiet of something that might disappear, but the steady quiet of something that’s willing to wait for you.
I suppose that’s why I warmed to them. I’m not a bold painter by nature. My colours tend to stay muted more often than not, my shapes a bit naïve, my compositions more like gentle suggestions than declarations. Acrylics let me work that way. They don’t rush me. They let me return to an idea, soften it, cover it, reveal it again. There’s a kind of forgiveness in that.
What I like most is the layering. With acrylics, you can bury a thought and let it show through just enough to be felt. A hint of a line, a ghost of a colour, something that was there before and still influences what comes after. It feels honest to me. We’re all made of things we’ve painted over but never really erased.
And the drying time—people think it’s a nuisance, but I’ve always found it grounding. Acrylics dry quickly enough to keep you moving, but not so quickly that you can’t reconsider. There’s a rhythm to it. Marks can dry, offering new avenues, layering decisions. You make a mark, you pause, you watch it settle. It’s almost meditative. A conversation with time rather than with water.
My palette stays soft with acrylics too. I don’t push them to shout. I let them murmur. A grey that leans toward lavender, a blue that’s almost forgetting it’s blue, a green that feels like it’s thinking of turning into smoke. Acrylics can be loud, of course, but I’ve never asked them to be. I like them best when they’re understated—when they’re doing the quiet work of holding a mood.
What acrylics gave me, more than anything, was the sense that a painting doesn’t have to arrive all at once. It can unfold. It can hesitate. It can change its mind. That suits me. I’ve always been someone who needs time to understand what I’m trying to say.
So yes—acrylics weren’t my first love, but they became a kind of companion. A medium that lets me build gently, think slowly, and let the painting find its own way without forcing it. In their own quiet manner, they’ve shaped me just as much as watercolour ever did.