The Art of Synesthesia: Painting the Senses



Can you imagine seeing music or hearing color? For a small subset of people, this is not imagination but reality. Synesthesia is a fascinating phenomenon where the stimulation of one sense involuntarily triggers another – for instance, sounds might evoke vivid colors or shapes​. Only around 4%–5% of the population experiences true neurological synesthesia​, but its mystique has captured artists’ imaginations for centuries. The idea that our senses can merge opens up incredible creative possibilities: What if a painting could make us feel a sound or taste a memory? Artists have long been intrigued by this blending of senses. Wassily Kandinsky, one of the pioneers of abstract art, famously described his paintings in musical terms – he saw colors as analogous to notes and believed that combining them on canvas could create a kind of visual symphony. In fact, Kandinsky was reportedly influenced by his own synesthetic perceptions of color and sound​.

This led him to compose paintings the way a musician composes a score, using shape and hue to stir emotions the way music does. Early 20th-century art movements like Synchromism took a similar approach, attempting to arrange color in the same harmonious way one might arrange chords in a song. The canvas became a stage for orchestrating sensations, not just depicting scenes. In contemporary times, the connection between art and synesthesia continues to inspire. Some modern artists actually have synesthesia and make art directly from those sensory crossovers. For example, painter Melissa McCracken experiences a form of synesthesia where she sees colors when she hears music – a condition called chromesthesia. She literally paints what she hears, translating songs into swirling palettes of textured color on the canvas​.

A viewer of her work might be looking at a visual representation of a Beatles song or a jazz piano solo, each hue and brushstroke chosen to reflect a sound or emotion within the music. Even for those of us without synesthesia, there’s something mesmerizing about her paintings – as if we can momentarily share that sensory overlap and “hear” the colors too. Beyond the literal synesthetes, many artists (myself included) find the concept of synesthesia to be a rich source of inspiration. I don’t physically taste lemon when I see bright yellow, and I don’t see flashes of blue when I hear a violin note – but I often ask myself abstract questions like, “What would this melody look like as a painting?” or “If this emotion had a color, what would it sound like?” Thinking this way encourages me to use color, form, and texture more expressively. For instance, if I want a painting to convey the serenity of a soft lullaby, I might use gentle, flowing brushstrokes and a muted blue-green palette that feels like a calm wave. On the other hand, a painting inspired by a chaotic city soundscape might have jagged lines and clashing colors to mimic the energy of noise. In my studio, I’ve even played specific music while painting to see how it influences the marks I make – allowing the rhythms to guide my brush in real time. Ultimately, the art of synesthesia is about painting the senses – transcending the purely visual to create an experience. It reminds us that art isn’t confined to one channel of perception. A great painting can almost be “heard” and “felt” in the mind; a swirl of fiery color might hit us like the crescendo of a song, or a delicate pale shape might whisper like a distant memory. As an artist, I cherish this idea. It means that when someone views a piece of my art, there are multiple ways to connect with it. Maybe they see the subject I painted, but feel something more – a mood, a sensation, a flash of a song lyric. That depth of experience, engaging senses and emotions together, is what makes art so profoundly human. Synesthesia, whether literal or metaphorical, teaches us that creativity has no sensory boundaries. In my own small way, whenever I choose a color because it “just feels like rain on pavement” or adjust a composition because it “needs a louder rhythm,” I’m tapping into that synesthetic spirit – painting not just what I see, but what I hear, smell, and sense in my mind’s eye.