For artist Jen Sanders, color is both a starting point and a constant source of discovery. Inspired by the unexpected palettes she finds in nature—from the muted blues of a heron’s feathers to the shifting gradients of coral—Sanders creates abstract work that is playful, deliberate, and alive. Her process balances careful planning with room for surprise, layering luminous acrylic backgrounds with intuitive marks and gestures that are distinctly her own. In this interview, Sanders shares what keeps her returning to the studio, why joy and discovery matter in both making and collecting art, and how a lifelong impulse to create evolved into a painting practice she continues to push in new directions.
What initially inspired your latest body of work/current practice?
Color has always been the foundation of my practice - specifically, the pursuit of combinations that feel unexpected but inevitable. My inspiration can come from many places, but lately I've been drawn deeply into the natural world. It started with insects and butterflies, then evolved into birds, coral, fish, and broader natural landscapes. I spend a lot of time moving through photography books and image collections, and I find myself consistently pulled toward the way color occurs organically in nature; the contrast, the surprise of it, the combinations no one would think to invent. There's something about the way light hits a bird's wing or the gradient of a coral reef that unlocks something for me. I try to bring that same sense of organic surprise into my work.
"Almost On Purpose" by Jen Sanders
What part of your creative process would most surprise people?
Probably the planning. Abstract expressionism carries an assumption of pure spontaneity - paint flying, total freedom - and while there is freedom in my process, it's actually built on a surprising amount of preparation. I test color palettes before anything touches the canvas. I plan out which tools I'll use based on the palette or inspiration I'm working from. I test markers, pencils, oil pastels. I mix paints to match the exact colors I'm after. I find that I can actually create more freely when the options aren't endless. But here's the thing, all that planning doesn't always hold. Sometimes in the process of trying to recreate a color, I accidentally land on something new entirely, and that discovery pulls me down a completely different path. A palette I thought I had mapped out suddenly has a new direction. So the planning and the spontaneity aren't really opposites, the structure is what creates the conditions for the happy accidents.
What are you currently obsessed with?
Right now I'm obsessed with a photograph of a blue heron. I just completed a small series inspired by it, and I'm still not done with it. What drew me in was the color - these deep, grayish-blue tones that feel completely different from the bright, bold contrasting palettes I've worked with in the past. It's still bold, but quieter. More tranquil. And the more I look at the photograph, the more I find; a million little surprises hidden in each pixel,new color combinations revealing themselves every time I look. I keep discovering things I missed. But it's also the bird itself. There's something about the way a heron just stands there, completely still, completely patient, waiting for hours for the exact right moment, and then in one swift movement, it's done. I find that really compelling right now. Maybe I needed a little more heron energy in my life.
What is something you wish more people understood about artists?
That we're more ordinary than people think. There's a romantic idea of the artist as someone who finds profound philosophical meaning in every moment and channels it into their work, and while that can be true sometimes, it's not the whole picture, at least not for me. Sometimes the color is the inspiration. Sometimes it's the movement, or just the act of making itself that carries me through to the end of a piece. Not every painting has an elaborate story behind it. That said, I do believe that whatever I'm experiencing in the moment finds its way into the work. I'll put on music, let myself settle into where I am emotionally, and I think that energy becomes part of the painting in ways that are hard to explain. But a lot of the time, if I'm being honest, I'm just creating to scratch an itch. And I think that's enough.
Which artists are at your dream dinner table? Who else is there?
Honestly? I'd skip the historical dream dinner and fill the table with living artists navigating the same world I am. That's where my heart is. I do have deep admiration for Cy Twombly and Helen Frankenthaler, and early in my practice Linda Colletta was a huge inspiration for me. But so much of what excites me right now comes from artists I discover on Instagram whose names I don't even know yet - I'll stop mid-scroll, completely arrested by something, wondering why I didn't think of that. Those are the people I want at my table. The ones in the middle of it, figuring it out, making work anyway.
What is the last artwork you acquired—or wish you had?
I have a strange and fully committed weakness for quirky animal art. One of my recent acquisitions is a print by Strangford (Jo Pearson) called Ass Purr Usual - a cat with eight legs, made using woodcut printmaking techniques. I love it so much. Most recently I brought home a ceramic crow face by Julie Clements. I'm not sure I can fully explain the pull, but I think it comes down to who I am - I'm a quirky person. I love to laugh, I love animals, and there's something about art that's playful and a little unexpected that just gets me every time. It's also always a great conversation piece. So much more interesting than a photorealistic still life of a bowl of fruit.
What does living with art add to a person's life?
I can only speak for myself, but for me it adds joy. I have work from a lot of different artists in my home, alongside some of my own pieces, and what I get from all of it is this quiet, steady sense of pleasure knowing that everything on my walls is something I chose, something I want to look at every single day. And I genuinely never get sick of it. Part of what I love is that art keeps revealing itself over time. You notice a new detail in a painting you've lived with for years, a surprise you somehow missed a hundred times before. Sometimes it's a color combination that catches you differently in a new light. But underneath all of it is this feeling of - yes, that's me. The more art I add to my home, the more it feels like mine.
What is the one piece of advice you would give a new collector?
Go with your gut. If a piece makes you feel something - something positive, something that lights you up then buy it. Don't buy art because it matches your throw pillows. Buy art you never get sick of looking at. Buy art that makes you feel like this space is yours, your tiny little spec in the universe. Buy art that reminds you of a feeling or a place you want to carry with you. And if you can't find art that does that for you? Maybe that's your sign to try making some.
When someone lives with one of your pieces for ten years, what do you hope it means to them?
I hope they feel proud. There's a real sense of accomplishment in choosing something that still resonates with you a decade later. I know that feeling from my own collection. The pieces I've lived with the longest are the ones I'm most grateful I trusted myself enough to bring home. I also hope they're still discovering things in it. New details, new surprises, something they hadn't noticed before. That's the gift of living with original art. And I hope they feel like they made a good investment, because art is an investment. Not just financially, but in yourself and in the pursuit of happiness. People buy art because it makes them feel something, because it sparks a memory, because it says something about who they are. Ten years in, I want them to feel like they got all of that and more.
What keeps bringing you back to the studio?
Inspiration, mostly. Color combinations that stop me in my tracks and make me want to recreate them immediately. Everyday things I notice that suddenly feel like the beginning of something. But honestly? Sometimes it's boredom. And I think that's worth saying. If I didn't have an art practice I'm not sure what I would do with myself. There's something I get from being in the studio that I don't get anywhere else - not from my day job, not from everyday life at home. It's this little burst of adventure, even if it's happening in a tiny room in my house. That feeling keeps bringing me back every time.
Describe your work in three words.
Playful, deliberate, alive.
"Wrong Side Up" by Jen Sanders
What's something people often misunderstand about your work?
That it's easy to make. Abstract expressionism carries this assumption that it's spontaneous, unplanned, paint thrown at a canvas, happy accidents, anyone could do it. And while there's freedom in my process, there's also years of accumulated thought, planning, and discovery beneath every piece. It took me a long time to find my own style, and that journey doesn't show up on the surface of the work but it's absolutely there. The other thing I'd say is that abstract expressionism rewards attention. The more familiar you become with it, the more you start to recognize individual artists and their gestures, their instincts, the way they move. There are marks in my paintings that come directly from me in a way I can't fully explain. They're not replicable. They're mine. And I think once you spend time with the work, you start to feel that.
If you could hang one of your paintings anywhere in the world, where would it be?
Honestly? A hotel lobby or a restaurant somewhere I've never been, where I just happen to walk in and see it hanging on the wall. No fanfare, no context - just my work living in the world, doing its thing for strangers. I've been getting more licensing deals lately where reproductions of my paintings end up in public spaces like that, and the idea of stumbling across one someday feels like the dream. Not the Louvre. Just a really good moment in an ordinary place.
What subjects or themes do you return to most often?
Mark-making. It's consistently the most exciting part of my practice - the marks I layer on top of a stained backdrop. Sometimes the work is heavy with them, sometimes more minimal, but that relationship between the ground and the gesture is always there.
What do you hope people feel when they spend time with your work?
Joy, and a sense of discovery. I want them to keep finding things.
What draws you to your chosen medium?
Acrylic paint is my chosen medium, and honestly a big part of it is the speed. I'm not someone who could spend twenty hours on a single painting - I'd lose interest. Acrylic dries fast, which means I can complete a piece in a day or two and keep moving. I love that momentum. It also means I can fail fast - not every piece I make is something I love or something that ever sees the public, but the medium gives me the freedom to find that out quickly and move on to the next thing.
Describe a typical day in your studio.
Most of my studio time isn't actually making art and I think that would surprise people. A typical day involves researching, hunting for inspiration, building color palettes, chatting with galleries and potential buyers, creating social media content, managing email lists, tracking my budget. There's a lot of office work that lives inside an art practice. When I am ready to paint, it usually starts with pouring diluted layers of acrylic to build a colorful, gradient background. I've always loved having that kind of luminous, stained foundation to work on top of. Once that dries, I come back in with texture and marks. That's where the real fun is. But honestly, day to day looks completely different. The throughline is always the same though - finding ways to connect with collectors, whether that's through the work itself, or through every other form of communication that keeps a practice alive.
Do you begin with a plan or let the work evolve?
Always begin with a plan
What influences your work outside of art?
Nature is the biggest one, as I've mentioned, it's an endless source of unexpected color. Music plays a role too, mostly in setting the energy in the studio while I work. And color itself, honestly, found anywhere, in anything. A packaging label, a sunset, a screenshot. Color is always the thing I'm chasing.
Are there recurring colors, materials, or ideas that you find yourself returning to?
I'm always chasing new color palettes - it's something I actively push myself toward. But there's one combination I keep returning to almost by accident: a deep teal-blue paired with burnt orange, softened with lighter blues and greens. It just keeps finding its way back into my work no matter what I set out to do. My materials stay pretty consistent though, acrylic paint, oil pastels, pencils, and markers. That toolkit hasn't changed much, even as everything else evolves.
If someone could only know one thing before purchasing one of your pieces, what would it be?
That every single sale still excites me. Even after hundreds of pieces, when someone decides they want to take something I made, pay for it, and live with it in their home - I am genuinely elated. Every time. I never want them to forget that their purchase means something to me personally, not just as a transaction but as this incredible act of trust and connection.
Tell us the story of how you became the artist you are today. What are the experiences, influences, challenges, and moments that have shaped your creative life?
I've always been a maker. Crocheting, fiber art, jewelry - if there's a craft, I've tried it. But abstract expressionism stopped me in my tracks, and I've been addicted ever since. I'm not even sure exactly where it started. Probably a Pinterest board, some image that made me think - I could do that. I remember buying my first set of acrylic paints and making some really ugly artwork. But the process was fun, and that was enough to keep going. Over the next six or seven years I tested every medium, every surface you can paint on, and slowly landed on a process and a practice that I genuinely love - one that is still evolving. What I know now is that painting is the perfect outlet for someone who has a hard time sitting still. It takes all of the overthinking and overwhelm of everyday life and gives it somewhere to go. It channels everything into something beautiful. That's why I keep coming back. That's the whole story, really.
Explore Jen's entire collection here.