I create art because the process is my meditation and my connection with a power greater than myself. When I see the feeling of a joyful childhood, the beauty of the play of light on a rusty Model A, or the drama of red poppies in early spring, translate from my brush to the physical page, I know that there is a benevolent force at work in me and in the world around me.

Unlike the spoken word, where language can leave a listener feeling like an outsider— visual art has no prerequisites to participate. As such, we as artists have the supreme honor of taking a vision and sharing it with our viewers. When we create, we ask ourselves the ultimate question: Why? What is it about a place, a person, a subject that makes us want to share with our viewers. What do we want them to experience? Do we want to dance? Do we want to fight?

My work begins with a moment in the natural world — a quiet encounter, a held gaze,
or a fleeting gesture from an animal that lingers long after the moment has passed.
These experiences stay with me, and they become the stories I bring into my
paintings and sculptures.