You know that feeling when the world gets loud and you don’t even realize how much you’ve been holding until something quiets it? That’s where my work begins. I’m a painter living on the Pacific Northwest coast, where the air is heavy with salt and cedar and everything feels just a little more honest. I paint because it’s the only way I’ve found to say the things I don’t always have words for—the in-between moments, the tension, the stillness, the ache and the relief of being fully here. My life is full and beautiful and chaotic in the way real life is, and painting has become the place where I sort through all of it. It’s not about perfection. It’s about noticing. It’s about letting something land.

The Pacific Northwest has shaped the way I see everything. The way the light filters through moss-covered branches, how the ocean never asks permission to be loud, how even the greyest days hold depth if you sit with them long enough. I’m drawn to that contrast—the softness and the strength, the quiet and the wild—and I try to hold both in my work. These paintings aren’t meant to be just something you look at. They’re something you feel. A pause. A breath. A reminder that there is so much beauty in slowing down, in paying attention, in letting the quiet parts of your life come to the surface and take up space.