Artist Statement
I work at the intersection of observation and restraint, making paintings and mixed-media works that pursue quiet clarity. My practice is attentive to edges—what a surface keeps and what it reveals—and to time, the slow accrual of marks that records presence without insisting on narrative. I favor pared-back compositions, limited palettes, and calibrated gestures that invite close looking. The works are not illustrations of an idea but objects of attention: they hold visual and material questions open rather than resolve them.
Materials and process are central to this inquiry. I choose supports, grounds, and pigments for their specific behaviors and histories. Surfaces are primed, sanded, scarred, and rebuilt; paint is added, scraped away, stained, and layered until the work reaches a balance between control and accident. Repetition and subtle variation are strategies I use to measure perception—the way a thin glaze changes a color, the way a wound in paper absorbs light differently, the way a repeated motif accrues meaning through slight difference.
Environmental concern is inseparable from this material practice. I am conscious of the ecological footprint of artmaking—from the solvents and resins that emit volatiles to the sourcing of papers and canvases—and I respond by making deliberate, responsible choices. My styrofoam-based works are made using recycled materials, used as building blocks to communicate change and a call to action.
Beyond material choices, my work addresses the broader relationship between humans and place. The pared-back surfaces and eroded edges I favor refer, in subtle ways, to landscapes in states of change—shifting shorelines, weathered facades, and the slow fraying of infrastructure. These references are not didactic. Instead of picturing crisis, the works situate the viewer in a moment of attention where ecological loss, endurance, and care can be felt as part of an extended temporal field. I aim to cultivate a reflective stance: to make visible the traces of use and neglect, and to suggest that stewardship begins with noticing.
My hope is that these restrained, materially honest works offer a space for contemplation and a modest ethical proposition: that attentiveness—of hand, eye, and material—can be a form of care. In an era of accelerating change, art can remind us that responsibility often begins with small adjustments, sustained practice, and the willingness to reckon with the consequences of making.
