Art, for me, has always been something that comes out of being alive. In most primitive cultures, there isn’t even a word for art — people just made it. That’s how it should be. Art isn’t something apart from life; it’s woven into the way we see, feel, and respond to the world.

I never start a painting knowing exactly what it will be. I work into the surface until the image starts to talk back. Then I listen. Sometimes it begins with color or texture, just putting down marks and waiting for something to emerge. When that happens, I follow it. The process becomes a conversation — between me, the paint, and whatever wants to come through.

It’s not about making a perfect painting. It’s about catching a moment of truth — something spiritual, something you can feel. I paint in layers, adding and taking away until the surface begins to breathe. Often, what’s underneath becomes more important than what’s on top.

I’m drawn to the last light of day — that quiet moment between day and night when things start to disappear. It’s not about sadness; it’s about mystery, about what’s beyond what we can see. Each painting, in its own way, is a search for that.

After all these years, I still feel like I’m learning. Every painting teaches me something new. My job is just to show up, do the work, and let grace do the rest.