I am haunted by the tonal values I see, the hues of soft sunrises, and by my very own imagination. To quench my specters I have weathered blizzards, downpours, and stinging dust storms. I have climbed mountains, clung to precipices, and waded in neck deep water. I have explored ghostly abandoned places, and stepped where many phantoms won’t.

By the age of three I already had two eye surgeries and my doctors were concerned I would have acutely impaired vision. Providentially my eyesight improved and I overcame my biggest weakness by turning it into my strongest asset. I graduated the Art Institute of Colorado top of my class in 2004, and was a successful professional photographer for two decades. Now I am seeking my solace in oils.

Inspiration can find me in the quiet of predawn. Vibrations of color will change my mood. I adore the unrelenting melancholy of a lonely winter day as much as seeking the fleeting shade of a tree in heat of summer. I can be inspired by a junkyard gear ceased up with grime, as easily as a free flowing brook in a manicured garden. Distant hoodoos eroded by a thousand years will thrill me as much as the instant immediacy of a crack of nearby lighting. I can see beauty in a field of wildflowers and in the vintage floral wallpaper inside an abandoned farmhouse. Just as rain falls on the just and unjust alike; light illuminates a grove of aspens equally as it does a derelict drive in theater.

My impressionist voice percolates of rust, craggy barns, forgotten places, and fearsome landscapes. I see the mystery others overlook. I am inspired by the California impressionists, especially William Wendt. I paint in Plein Air as much as I am able because it helps connect me to my subject, and teaches me observation. In the studio, when I am possessed by an idea, the composition eats at my soul like a wraith until I have created it. My art has a life of its own, with a yearning for birth. 

 As Van Gogh said, “I am seeking, I am striving, I am in it with all my heart.”