Art*Ist Statement:
When I was in high school, I carried a sketchbook everywhere. On a trip to New York City, I found myself in a dive bar talking with a weathered sailor who worked as a yacht captain for a wealthy family in Manhattan. At the end of our conversation, I asked him to write a piece of advice in my sketchbook. He wrote: “The shoreline of wonder is always greater than the island of knowledge.” I didn’t know it then, but that sentence would follow me for the rest of my life.
That idea—wonder always outpacing certainty—sits at the heart of my practice. Each day I wake unsure of who I am and what I know. Full of what ifs, why nots, and could it be‘s. Raw potential. My work isn’t about arriving at answers; it’s about the space between them. The circle has become my language for this—its form both empty and complete, its spirit always returning. To draw or paint a circle is not to explain, but to witness. To feel. To return. It is a meditation, it is my sanctuary.
In a culture obsessed with outcomes, I find myself drawn to the overlooked—those quiet spaces where work and play merge, where questions echo and mystery breathes. I’ve learned from my children—how they create without hesitation, play without explanation, and live in direct relationship with the moment. Somewhere along the road to adulthood, we forget how to be that free. My work is a quiet rebellion against that forgetting.
I create because it allows me to lay down the armor of identity and step into something whole, something still. My work is a reminder—both to myself and others—of what we already know but too easily forget in our distracted world. The mystery of being alive isn’t something to be solved; it is something to be experienced & simply, appreciated.
If there is a goal to my work, it is simple: to become wise enough to enjoy the simple things. To linger in the present………… & enjoy the primary satisfactions; eating, dreaming, creating, dancing, grieving, giving thanks, together. To allow art to be what it has always been for me—a shoreline of wonder stretching beyond what I know, calling me back, again and again.
This is my work. This is my practice. This is my offering.