Artist Statement

My paintings begin in the in-between—where the personal meets the imagined, where analog slips into digital, and where the static image starts to move.

I usually start with a photo. It is not a polished composition, but something raw and instinctive—a quick mirror snap, an off-kilter gesture, a flicker of light that catches something honest. From there, I carry it into the digital realm, where suggestion reshapes the image into something more uncertain, more open. I’m not looking for a polished rendering. I’m looking for something like a distant memory—bent, dreamlike, half-lost in smoke. The result isn’t a blueprint, it’s a starting point, a feeling to chase.

Once I have something that strikes the right chord, I print, laminate, and pin it up in the studio. The reference acts like a jazz standard; It’s familiar enough to ground the piece, but flexible enough to leave space for improvisation. There’s usually music playing—Monk, Mingus, Lee Morgan, Blakey—and that rhythm seeps into the work. Brushstrokes fall in time with a horn line or ride cymbal. Color shifts with the bass. The painting builds like a solo, rooted in the theme but stretching toward something unexpected.

The reference hangs nearby, part of the atmosphere. It sparked the idea, but the painting finds its natural rhythm. I follow the tempo of the moment with color, gesture, and intuition. The work drifts where it needs to go, shaped as much by memory and music as by the image that started it.

I don’t see a line between old tools and new ones. The technology folds into the rhythm, like a second horn in the band. It stirs things up, throws ideas sideways, and keeps the conversation strange and alive. I welcome that. It’s not about control—it’s about building a process spacious enough for surprise, instinct, and the unknown to step in and take the lead.