Some artists begin with an image.
Others begin with an idea.
I begin by listening.
Before a brush touches canvas, there is a rhythm, sometimes subtle, sometimes insistent. A color suggests a tone. A gesture asks for tempo. The painting tells me how it wants to move.
My work lives at the intersection of sound and color. Years of piano performance and composition inform how I layer paint, how I build contrast, and how I allow space. Silence matters just as much as saturation.
When I paint, I’m not trying to represent something I see. I’m responding to something I feel, often something I hear. A memory. A chord. A moment suspended in time.
This is why my paintings often become more than paintings.
They become:
- music translated into color, imagery, and energy
- experiences shared in the community
- wearable pieces that move through the world
Each form is a continuation of the same conversation.
The studio is where these threads meet, where sound becomes visible, and color begins to sing.
If you’ve ever felt drawn to a piece of art without knowing why, you were probably listening, too.