In the video, Dad begins with a smooth panel already coated in white gesso — “a plaster-like substance,” as he calls it. He explains that although the surface is ready to paint, he prefers to add texture: “It influences the application of color later on and adds interest automatically as you paint.”

Using a heavy gel medium, he spreads it across the surface in imperfect, spontaneous movements, letting ridges and marks form naturally. “It doesn’t leave a smooth layer,” he says. “It leaves ridges and marks as you move it around. And already you’ve got a more interesting surface to work on.” Then, he demonstrates how to press textured materials into the still-wet gel — pads, fabrics, or anything with pattern. As the paste dries, those impressions remain, creating invisible architecture beneath the color layers to come. Later, when paint is brushed or scraped across, it “skips across the ridges” — catching light and shadow, building rhythm. It’s not just technique. It’s metaphor. Each ridge becomes a trace of time, each layer an echo of process.

For collectors and artists who admire Bill Suttles’ paintings, this short demonstration reveals what gives his works such tactile energy. What might look spontaneous — color gliding, shape interrupting shape — is actually born from this thoughtful groundwork.

When you stand before one of his abstract paintings, you’re not only seeing the visible color field; you’re seeing the buried architecture of those early gestures. His use of gesso and heavy gel transforms flat surface into terrain — a field of movement that invites both the eye and the imagination.

As his son, it’s meaningful to me that his process was never mechanical. He built surfaces that reflected the complexity of life: structured yet alive, precise yet unpredictable.