Art made from necessity is different from art made by choice

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An artist is rarely self-made. The foundation is almost always laid by someone

else, long before the canvas appears." My Dad taught me how to be an artist, before I knew I was

one."

He taught that creative sparks arrive without warning and must be met

immediately — that the energy of a new idea is the raw material itself, and to

hesitate is to lose it. He modeled process: try new ideas, new materials, new

concepts, until you find what is authentically yours. He taught that art is not made

in a moment. It takes time. It is a labor of love.

What he gave most freely was this: he finished his work, then stood back and

watched silently as others encountered it — not to hear praise, but to know

whether they could see what he saw. Whether they could feel what he felt. That

anticipation, that silence, that hope — it lives in every piece made here.

Art did not arrive as ambition. It arrived as necessity. My daughter opened the

door. What followed was the discovery that writing out pain was not enough —

that there were parts that had to be painted open, not written out.

This is where the work begins: in the subconscious, where a blank canvas

becomes a space for what language cannot hold. Guided by intuition rather than

intent, each piece surfaces memories, thoughts, and the things we carry without

names.

"Art found a lost soul — and gave her somewhere to put it."

The result is work that does not decorate. It inhabits. Heavily textured oil paintings built through palette knife, various material, and physical process — surfaces that hold light differently depending on where you stand. Paper works cut without

a plan, assembled into compositions that reveal themselves only in completion.

Each piece is a key, not an answer.