When people ask what inspires my art, I first think about the music that was playing while I worked, the rhythm my hand found moving across the canvas, the simple satisfaction of watching colors interact. I grew up surrounded by the bold energy of Abstract Expressionism, and the clean honesty of mid-century design—both spoke a language I understood instinctively.

My work captures the momentum of making itself. Each painting is a record of time spent hovering over the canvas, layers building through intuition rather than plan. I'm drawn to the palettes of each season, of forge-fire, of things that glow from within, of the cold and the dark. The linear elements weave through like musical phrases, connecting and departing, creating their own sense of movement and space.

There's something refreshing about working without having to justify every mark. In a culture obsessed with explanation and meaning, I find freedom in the immediate—in colors that please me, in gestures that feel right, in compositions that find their own balance. The painting is complete when it feels complete, not when it illustrates an idea.

My studio practice is both meditation and celebration. These pieces exist because the act of making them brings me joy, and hopefully some of that energy transfers to anyone who spends time with them. Sometimes that's enough.