I have always had a natural affinity for drawing from life. For me, realism is a meditative practice that gets me out of my overly analytical, incessantly thought-churning mind, and into my body and my spirit. I love the sensory experience of painting and drawing — the smell of fresh, buttery globs of oil paint, the feel of the soft brush against the smooth panel, the dusty markings of charcoal and pencil, the practice of training my eye to see and record every unique detail.
The subject matter lights up my senses too, with an infinite variety of surface textures, color palettes, geometric and organic forms, reflected light and cast shadows, and the ambient space that contains them all. My mind is engaged in making decisions and choices about composition, proportion, value, and whether the painting “works” as a whole, but it isn’t making noise or concocting allegories about what it all means.
I like to paint objects as if they are sitting for a portrait. I see each one as having its own spirit and personality, and when I connect with that I feel a sense of peaceful timelessness. If my work represents anything beyond a meditation on seeing, it is that quiet place in each of us that is connected to all things.