In my studio, color isn’t just color. It’s memory. It’s energy. It’s how I process the world, and how I find calm within it.
When I paint, I’m not working from a sketch or a plan. I follow feeling. There’s an emotional rhythm to the way I apply paint — whether that means bold, saturated strokes or softer, more muted tones. My palette shifts over time, reflecting whatever stage of life I’m in. It might echo the places I’ve visited, the weather outside, or quieter inner changes that don’t announce themselves so easily.
I Dare Say
Over the years, I’ve come to trust that my choices in color are a kind of language — one that doesn’t need to be translated. When I began experimenting with desaturated hues and more subtle transitions, I didn’t fully realize I was also letting in a new softness. The work started to feel more reflective, more meditative. Not less vibrant, but perhaps more open-ended.
The Silk Floss Tree and Other Friends from My Garden
There’s an intimacy in abstract painting. I’m not telling you what to see or how to feel — I’m inviting you to pause, to consider, to feel something of your own. And because color is deeply emotional, it allows for that kind of personal connection.
Under the Electric Candelabra
Some days, the colors shout. Other days, they whisper. But every painting I make is rooted in that same impulse: to respond to what’s around me, and to process what’s within. My studio is where I make sense of things — where messes become forms, and color becomes conversation.
I Said I'm Sorry
If you’ve ever stood in front of a painting and felt something shift inside you, then you already understand. It’s not about interpreting. It’s about being present. That’s what I hope my paintings offer: a quiet space to linger, and maybe, to feel a little more connected — to yourself, to your own moods, and to the world around you.