There was no defining moment when painting entered Andreas Liss’s life—it simply grew alongside him.
From long hours spent drawing in his bedroom to early attempts at capturing likeness, his practice emerged slowly, shaped by curiosity, solitude, and a desire to understand what he was seeing.
We spoke with him about those early years and the experiences that made painting feel like something more than just an activity.
Before Intention
When did painting first become a part of your life? Did you begin painting with any intention, or did it come naturally over time?
I don’t think there was ever a clear moment of decision. Painting was simply there from early on, something I kept returning to without really questioning it. What began as a quiet urge to create gradually became a way of understanding and expressing things I couldn’t put into words. I spent much of my childhood and youth in my bedroom drawing and painting, completely absorbed in that process. Looking back, it feels less like a choice and more like something that slowly took shape on its own.
What kept you painting in the early stages?
In the early stages, I kept painting mainly out of curiosity — I wanted to find out whether I was actually able to translate what I was seeing onto paper, and whether the final result would really resemble the reference image. That question of “can I do this?” was a strong driving force at the beginning and kept me experimenting and practicing. At the same time, painting gave me a space to completely withdraw into my own world. While I was drawing, I could shut out everything else and fully focus on what I was doing, which made the process feel very immersive, calming, and almost like a form of escape. Over time, I was also very influenced by the feedback and confirmation I received from my environment. Even in school, I was known as the one who draws, and that role slowly became part of how I defined myself, which reinforced the motivation to continue.
Do you remember the first portrait that felt meaningful to you?
In 1989, at the age of 15, I drew the cover of Robin Beck’s single First Time in pencil. I still remember being very focused on trying to get the likeness and details right. I also had, of course, a little crush on the girl depicted — it was a film still from the Coca-Cola commercial the song is known for. Luckily, I still have that drawing today, which makes it feel even more meaningful in hindsight, because it marks one of the first times I really felt connected to what I was doing.
Could you share your favorite piece of work at this stage and introduce it briefly?
At the moment, my favorite piece is a portrait I’m currently working on of one of my favorite muses, Becka Kolodny. It’s on a 50 × 100 cm stretched canvas. Over the past year, I’ve started bringing paintings from my sketchbooks onto larger canvases. I usually paint in sketchbooks because it feels more natural to me — almost like a purely private space where there’s no pressure and everything stays very direct and personal. This piece comes from that context. What I especially like about it is that it’s still in progress — it hasn’t been overworked or “fixed” too much yet, so it still feels open. There’s something promising in that stage, where everything is still possible.
How do you understand your own statement: “no artistic intention”?
When I say “no artistic intention,” I mean that I don’t approach painting with the aim of expressing something specific, communicating a message, or developing a conceptual idea behind the work. There is no defined artistic agenda guiding what I do. There is no “creative intention” in that sense — my focus is simply on reproducing the reference photo as accurately as possible, as a kind of homage to beauty itself. What is central for me is the process rather than the final result. Painting is part of my everyday life and functions as a form of withdrawal from the outside world, a way of returning to a more internal, focused state. The importance lies less in the outcome and more in being in that state while working.
The Painted Presence
What do you look for in a face before you begin painting? How do you decide what to emphasize and what to leave out?
I tend to look for female faces that are immediately striking in a very direct way — I’m drawn to obvious beauty, but also to a certain sense of melancholy in the expression. Before I start painting, I also pay close attention to the lighting in the reference, especially strong light and shadow contrasts and sharp highlights, because they give the face structure and intensity. In terms of what I emphasize and what I leave out, my basic approach is to bring out a few key details that define the face, while everything around it — the surrounding context or less essential elements — can be reduced or even neglected.
Do you work more from observation, memory, or intuition?
I work very clearly from observation. My practice is about directly translating what I see in the reference into painting, as accurately as possible. It’s less about memory or intuition, and more about close looking and careful reproduction. For me, it’s a meditative process rather than a creative one — there’s no intention to transform or interpret the image, but to stay as close as possible to what is in front of me.
What stood out to you when working with Artify brushes?
I had the chance to try two different Artify brush sets, and both left a really positive impression in their own ways. The 25-piece acrylic set stands out for its variety and thoughtful design. It includes a wide range of brush shapes and sizes, making it easy to switch between different techniques. The addition of a palette knife is a nice bonus, and the foldable case keeps everything neatly organized. The brushes clean up well and hold their shape after use. The 11-piece oil paint brush set also impressed me, especially in terms of comfort and performance. The brushes hold paint very well, and the handle length feels balanced and comfortable, even during longer painting sessions. The natural bristles work nicely, giving good control and smooth application. The overall design is aesthetically pleasing.
How do color and brushwork shape the feeling of a portrait?
For me, color is not the most important element, even though I obviously try to match it. Much more important is value and the use of warm–cool contrast, which gives the portrait its structure and depth. My paintings are not strictly photorealistic. I like to work quickly, alla prima, and because of that the visible brushstrokes become a defining part of the image. They naturally shape the surface and the overall feeling of the portrait. There is no real intention to develop a personal style — it simply emerges as a byproduct of this way of working.
What stays with you after finishing a painting of a person?
Honestly, what stays with me after finishing a portrait is a slight sense of disappointment about all the mistakes I still see in it, combined with curiosity about whether I could do it better next time. So I usually end up starting the next one quite soon after.
What Remains Human
What does painting people allow you to hold on to?
Painting people allows me to hold on to a set of very internal states that are difficult to define in a simple way. It connects me to a kind of inner childlike perspective that I still carry with me, as well as to a more general sense of longing. There is also a strong element of admiration for beauty, which feels closely linked to a rather withdrawn childhood experience and the way I learned to perceive the world from a more observational distance. At the same time, it is connected to my own melancholic disposition. Painting becomes a way of staying in contact with these parts of myself without needing to articulate them in a direct or conceptual way.
What do you hope viewers feel when they look at your portraits?
I post my paintings on social media, where I reach a lot of other hobby artists. In general, I really enjoy when people come across my work and feel inspired by it in some way, and I occasionally receive comments or messages that reflect exactly that kind of response. At the same time, there is something very special about the moments when a painted muse sees her own portrait and likes it. That kind of reaction feels different from everything else. In a way, it connects back to my original motivation — because at the core, I feel like I am really painting only for her and for myself.
Do you see your work changing, or staying close to what it is now?
Every now and then I experiment with different approaches, for example by changing my reduced color palette or trying small variations in how I handle certain elements. But in general, my work has remained very consistent since I started painting portraits in oil in 2021. The core way I approach painting hasn’t really changed much over time, and I don’t actively try to shift it in a fundamental way.
What feels most important to you to keep in your work over time?
What feels most important to me to keep in my work over time is my love for painting itself. It has accompanied me throughout my life and I want to preserve it in that same way until the end — much like my love for music, both of which have always been stable parts of my identity. That’s also why I still find it difficult at the moment to take on commissioned work, because it could easily shift the focus away from that very direct, personal relationship I have with painting and the process itself. I don’t want to lose this direct connection to the act of painting, where it is not about concept or ambition, but about the simple presence in the process.
If there’s one thing you hope remains in your work, what would it be?
Love and Longing.
Looking back, it’s not a single painting but a feeling that stands out—the moment when effort, focus, and connection came together.
From that first meaningful portrait to today, Andreas’s work continues to be driven by the same quiet question: how far can observation and dedication take you?
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