Derrick Bullard started painting when he was just a teenager, struggling with intense ADD and looking for something—anything—that would hold his focus. School didn’t do it. Sports didn’t do it. But painting did. It stuck. It gave him something solid to work with, a place to put his energy. What started as an attempt to calm his restless mind turned into a lifelong habit. That was twenty-four years ago.
He didn’t go to art school. He didn’t chase gallery shows. He didn’t try to shape his work to fit a trend. He just painted. Day after day. Year after year. Over time, he built a vast body of work—hundreds of pieces, maybe over a thousand already. His goal? More than 2,500. Not for recognition. Not for prestige. Just because this is what he does. And through it, he’s built something rare: a practice that’s completely his own.
One of Bullard’s more recent works is a 40 x 54-inch cityscape on canvas, made using oil paint and yarn. That might sound like an unusual combination. And it is. But it works.
The surface of the painting feels like it has depth beyond the limits of canvas. Bullard doesn’t just paint texture—he builds it. He lays down oil paint in patient, layered strokes, and then weaves in yarn to bring out edges, cast shadows, and define contours. The yarn isn’t decorative. It’s not there for whimsy or contrast. It does real structural work. In some places, it pulls the light out. In others, it darkens a corner or outlines a shape so subtly you might miss it until you step closer.
This cityscape isn’t romantic. It’s not the dreamy version of city life. It’s tight. It’s alive. There’s a pressure in it—a sense of endless motion. It’s all wires, windows, angles, and tension. Bullard’s yarn doesn’t soften that. If anything, it makes it feel more electric. You don’t look at this work and see one clean skyline. You see fragments, pockets of life, buildings crowding in on each other. It’s the urban sprawl boiled down into line and shadow.
And yet, despite all the movement, it’s organized. There’s a logic underneath it. You can feel the hours it took to build this surface. Nothing is rushed. The layering of paint is slow, careful, almost meditative. The yarn stitches each element into place like a kind of hand-drawn scaffolding.
Bullard isn’t trying to impress with technique, though there’s no question that the technique is there. He’s not interested in showing off how clever the material choices are. His work doesn’t have a flashy artist statement attached to it. Instead, it just exists—confident, unpolished, and completely resolved.
This is how Bullard works across all of his pieces. Whether he’s painting a figure, a city, or something more abstract, he builds with layers. He allows time to do its work. And he trusts the process more than the outcome.
His studio is full of paintings in progress. Some canvases sit for months before he returns to them. Some stay untouched for years until one day something clicks. That’s the kind of pace he keeps—no deadlines, no rush. Just the work.
Bullard isn’t on the gallery circuit. He doesn’t network at openings. He’s not trying to break into art fairs. His relationship to art is simpler: show up, do the work, stay honest. There’s something refreshing about that. Especially now, when art can feel like a product, and artists are expected to be influencers.
You get the sense that Bullard would be painting even if no one ever saw the work. But that doesn’t mean it should stay hidden. His cityscapes—especially the yarn-integrated ones—deserve to be seen. They hold a kind of quiet intensity that’s rare. They don’t shout for attention. They pull you in, one thread at a time.
And maybe that’s the real strength of Bullard’s art. It’s not about spectacle. It’s about staying with something long enough to make it real. Painting through distraction. Painting through doubt. Painting as a way of staying present.
After more than two decades, Derrick Bullard is still painting. Still working toward that 2,500 mark. Still building his world one layer at a time.
