36 x 36 x 2” acrylic on canvas
A meditation on stillness and anticipation, The Forest Held Its Breath captures the quiet tension of light suspended over water—where time seems to stop just before it begins again.
The Forest Held Its Breath
It began with the feeling of waiting, that charged stillness right before rain or dusk when everything seems to pause. I was drawn to the idea of a place inhaling, holding time in suspension. The slope, the dark trunks, the slow pull of water, all of it became a kind of breath caught between release and silence. Painting it felt like standing at the edge of something about to move, but choosing instead to stay and listen.
36 x 36 x 2” acrylic on canvas
A meditation on stillness and reflection, The Shape of Silence captures the fragile boundary where water, shadow, and memory merge into one quiet breath.
The Shape of Silence
The Shape of Silence began as an attempt to paint the sound of quiet. Standing near the edge of a river, I felt how the world can go utterly still — not empty, but charged, as if every branch and reflection were listening. The fallen trunks, the slope, the blue depths — they all became part of that held breath. What I wanted most was to paint the sensation of listening itself, the moment before sound returns, when the silence feels alive.
Man in orange light
36 x 36 x 2”acrylic on canvas
In Man in Orange Light, figure and atmosphere merge until color becomes memory ,a quiet apparition caught between heat and stillness.
Man in Orange Light began with the memory of seeing someone motionless in the distance — the kind of moment that feels both ordinary and supernatural. The orange wasn’t meant as clothing at first; it became light, then presence. I wanted the forest to feel overheated, saturated with memory, as if the figure was being slowly absorbed by the air. The painting isn’t about who he is, but about that suspended instant when we notice something real and unreal at once — and can’t look away.
36 x 36 x 2” acrylic on canvas
Still Light, Wrong Temperature captures the fragile equilibrium between calm and unease, a forest of quiet heat where the air itself seems to hold its breath.
Still Light, Wrong Temperature came from a sense of visual contradiction, hat unsettling harmony when warmth and chill exist in the same moment. The forest felt both burning and frozen, caught between beauty and discomfort. I wanted to paint that tension without explaining it, to make the color itself carry the unease. What began as a study in light became a study in perception ,how the world can look calm while something underneath hums with quiet disorder.
Still Light, Wrong Temperature
The Crossing
36 x 36 x 2” acrylic on canvas
The Crossing captures the tension between movement and stillness, a landscape of thresholds where memory, reflection, and choice quietly converge.
This began as a meditation on movement , not physical, but emotional. I kept thinking about the moment between staying and leaving, that hesitation before a step forward. The fallen trunks became both bridges and barriers, and the water below them felt like memory holding everything in suspension. I wanted the space to feel tangled yet alive, a threshold that asks for courage but offers no clear path.
36 x 36 x 2” acrylic on canvas What Remains Standing is a meditation on endurance and presence , a forest of survivors where figure and light merge into one calm defiance.
What remains standing
What Remains Standing came from thinking about endurance — how both nature and memory persist after everything else falls away. I wanted to paint the idea of survival without heroism, just presence. The pale trees became like bones of light, and the dark figures almost disappeared into them, part of what’s left behind. The painting isn’t about loss as much as it’s about what stays upright, the quiet strength of simply remaining.
36 x 36 x 2” acrylic on canvas
White Scar is a meditation on rupture and renewal — a single gesture that divides the forest and transforms it into light.White Scar is a meditation on rupture and renewal — a single gesture that divides the forest and transforms it into light.White Scar is a meditation on rupture and renewal — a single gesture that divides the forest and transforms it into light.
White Scar
Where the Reflection Breaks began as a study of perception — that subtle instant when an image turns back into water. I was drawn to the idea that reflections, like memory, can’t be trusted; they shimmer with truth and distortion at once. The figure standing above the surface became the quiet observer, aware of both realities but belonging to neither. I wanted the paint to carry that tension — the fragile line between seeing and understanding, where the surface wavers and the mind follows.
The listening pool
36 x 36 x 2” acrylic on canvas
The Listening Pool explores stillness as a form of connection — where water listens, light responds, and silence holds every voice that has passed through it.
The Listening Pool began with the thought that silence is not empty, it’s full of attention. The ripples became the visible sound of that attention, the way the world seems to answer when you stop speaking. The figures are neither watchers nor ghosts; they are part of the act , of listening itself. This painting is about stillness as communicationhow water, air, and presence share one quiet language.
36 x36 x 2” acrylic on cancas
In What the Forest Remembers, rain becomes memory and light turns to witness, a quiet forest recalling what it once contained.
What the forest remembers
What the Forest Remembers began with the idea that places remember us,that rain, trees, and air hold the echoes of what’s passed through them. The rain became a stand-in for memory, falling across time as much as space. The figures are both witnesses and participants, dissolving slowly into the forest that once held them. I wanted to capture that fragile overlap between presence and disappearance, how nature keeps its own kind of record, soft but unyielding.
Liminal Nest began as a meditation on solitude, not loneliness, but the kind that allows for transformation. I kept thinking about what it means to rest inside uncertainty, to build a nest in the in-between. The figure in the branches isn’t looking out or down but inward, surrounded by a glow that feels like memory, or perhaps hope. I wanted the painting to feel weightless, as if the forest itself had offered a moment of peace suspended in time.
36 x 36 x 2” acrylic on canvas
Liminal Nest reflects the quiet grace of solitude, a moment of suspension where stillness becomes its own form of light.
Liminal Nest
36 x 36 x 2” acrylic on canvas
Where the Reflection Breaks captures the moment perception falters — when reflection, light, and memory no longer agree, yet everything still holds together.
Where the Reflection Breaks
Where the Reflection Breaks began as a study of perception, that subtle instant when an image turns back into water. I was drawn to the idea that reflections, like memory, can’t be trusted; they shimmer with truth and distortion at once. The figure standing above the surface became the quiet observer, aware of both realities but belonging to neither. I wanted the paint to carry that tension, the fragile line between seeing and understanding, where the surface wavers and the mind follows.