My work lives at the intersection of intuition and structure, shaped by decades in design and love of the natural world. I didn't plan to become a painter, but somewhere along the way, the act of making took over, and I've never looked back.

Scale matters to me deeply. I work large, often larger than my own body, because I want the painting to surround you rather than simply face you. At that size, color and contrast stop being compositional choices and become something you feel physically. You don't stand in front of the work; you enter it.
I never begin with a finished image in mind. Each painting unfolds through a kind of listening; to the material, to gesture, to the way a palette starts to develop its own logic. I'm drawn to unexpected color relationships: combinations that surprise me, that resist easy harmony, that hold tension and resolution at the same time.

My design background never really goes away, it shows up in the underlying structure, the rhythm, the way space and weight are balanced. Where design wants resolution, painting lets me sit with ambiguity. That shift- from directing outcomes to inhabiting the process-has been the most transformative move of my creative life.

Nature isn't really my subject. It's more of a framework and a reminder that the most alive systems are cyclical, adaptive, and impossible to fully control. I find that endlessly useful.
What I hope for, ultimately, is that the work creates space for direct experience, that it asks for your presence more than your interpretation. At scale, that ask becomes hard to ignore.