Kyle Steed
- Anna Lilli Garai
- 6 days ago
- 5 min read
Kyle Steed is a self-taught artist from Texas who works with drawing, painting and murals. He has kept journals for more than twenty years, and this daily habit is where most of his ideas begin. In these pages he writes and draws freely, and this has become the base of how he thinks visually. He now works from home, moving between small drawings, studio paintings and larger wall pieces.
In our interview, we talk about how journaling shaped the way he works, how he approaches the studio at home, and why he sometimes starts a painting by writing directly on the canvas. He also speaks about type design, scale, repetition in his process, and the early preparations for his next show planned for 2026.
Q: How did your visual language first begin to come together?
A: Over the last two decades I’ve had a consistent practice of keeping a journal. I prefer the use of a journal over a sketchbook because the latter seems to imply that only drawing is allowed, although I definitely use my journals for drawing and working out ideas of all shapes and sizes. Through these pages I have come to understand that mistakes cannot be made as it applies to creating something. There is no such thing as a good or bad idea here, simply ideas that turn into something else. The transformation of myself by written language and drawing has been foundational in my understanding of the world within and around me. In simple terms, my journal is a safe place to explore.
Q: When you enter the studio, what usually gets you started?
A: Currently, I studio from my home, so it doesn’t take much to get me started. I am in constant contact with stuff that I’m working on. It definitely requires me to set some boundaries with myself and know when to turn it on and off. Although I can’t help paying attention to a painting when it is up on the wall staring at me all hours of the day. This is all part of the process — engaging in conversation with the work. Looking. Waiting. Responding. I think of Agnes Martin here when I sit and wait for an image to enter my mind.
Q: How does your background in type design show up in the way you build a piece?
A: It’s kind of like that old adage: you have to know the rules before you can break them. The structure of typography is rigorous and precise and predictable. But there’s something about the relationship between the repetition and the unknown of painting that I find shows up in my work. Oftentimes I find I’ll start a painting with a stream of consciousness writing directly onto the canvas — a way of beginning that has nothing to do with the final outcome. I think less about what I’m saying and more about having something to say. And by making a mark, even in words, it demonstrates that just starting is the surest way to keep going into the work. In my experience inspiration doesn’t come to us willingly but has to find us willing to work.
Q: As you work, what guides the next mark or shape?
A: There is a systematic approach to my work. I think in layers. The underlying composition is a loose suggestion of where I’ll go. I believe in boundaries and the attempt to control what lies within as a kind of game I play. It’s more than balance. It comes from a childhood obsession with Tetris. Not to oversimplify things, but yeah — I look and see how everything can fit together. There are moments of spontaneous response to breaking free of perfection and making marks over what I’ve spent hours working on. Without the freedom to fuck it up I run the risk of treating the work as something so precious, and I don’t like that. I oscillate between loose brushwork and getting really into the minutiae of the details.
Q: What makes a form or line feel worth repeating?
A: Interesting question. I think when it appears in my mind. If I see it, then it’s worth making — and then making it again and again. I’m really interested in the idea of reincarnation and how where I come from is everything. Meaning, everything that is comes from something, and there are endless possibilities of myself having so many different expressions and experiences. It is sad to assume this is the only life I get to live. What’s more, it’s too difficult to imagine infinity (that idea used to scare me as a child if I meditated on it for too long). But now, I enjoy where that leads me.
Q: How does scale change things for you — moving between small drawings, canvases, and walls?
A: I cherish the intimacy of my drawings. I enjoy the challenge of reinterpreting my work at larger scale, especially as it relates to murals. I’ve spent many years learning how to trust my hands to do the work at larger scale that my brain knows on a much smaller scale. It is a very rewarding experience to step back and see how it comes together. The paintings in my studio are an extension of the drawings. Same, but different. They are their own thing — intertwined.
Q: Has anything in your process changed recently?
A: Like I was saying, I’ve slowly learned how my drawings evolve into my paintings, allowing them to be their own unique expression. In the past, when I’ve attempted to replicate my drawings onto canvas it has always felt like something is missing. I’ve turned a corner where I am free to create in both areas without hesitation, using both to inspire the other. I find the more I can get out of my own way, the quicker I can free up what wants to be expressed.
Q: What does a good working day look like for you in the studio?
A: Before I touch the canvas, I like to move. Going for a walk always feels good first thing in the morning. It’s good for the mind, body, and soul. Fresh air, I mean. Really, anytime of day is good for a walk. As a dad though, I work within a pretty tight window of time, so I’ve had to learn how to make the most of my available time and, even harder, learned how to walk away and leave the work for another day. In this season of life I find it’s less how productive I am and more to do with how present I am with my work that makes a difference. Let’s be honest, it’s so easy to get lost scrolling through Instagram or following up with emails or doing a hundred other small things around the house. It takes a lot of effort to shut out the world and tune into my time with painting. That time looks different from day to day. I believe in allowing myself the time to sit and do nothing — actively waiting. The hardest part of any day is feeling stuck. Some days it’s enough just to make a couple strokes. To show restraint is a skill learned by making many mistakes.
Q: What’s on the horizon for you right now?
A: My next show is coming up in March 2026. I’m already beginning to make drawings for that show and think about where I want the work to go.