Abstract Art Journal

A horizon appears again and again in my paintings—sometimes clearly, sometimes almost hidden. I’ve begun to wonder why I keep returning to that distant place where one space gives way to another.

Lately, I’ve been spending time in the studio deliberately working on technique—particularly translucency, layering, and the way light can seem to move through a painting rather than simply sit on its surface. It has been an interesting exercise because I discovered something I probably already knew about myself: I can learn from a process, but eventually I have to stop following it. When I work too carefully from instructions, I begin concentrating on whether I am doing some

Mist began with blue. I wanted to explore variations of the color and create something that felt calm. As I worked, the blues began to remind me of Alaska and the ocean—the coolness, distance, and vastness of those landscapes—but I wasn't trying to paint a particular place. At that point, I was still experimenting with texture and deciding where the painting wanted to go. The composition began to change when I introduced the mist. Suddenly, I wasn't simply looking at layers o

I didn’t realize at first that my paintings had become my voice. Looking back, I can see that I was painting my way through uncertainty, transition, and toward a deeper understanding of myself.

Some paintings reveal themselves while I am working on them. Others wait until much later. Where Silence Deepens was one of those paintings whose meaning became clearer to me over time. As I looked more closely, I began to see it as a reflection of life itself—the triumphs and adversities, the moments of clarity and uncertainty, all existing together within the same space. What interested me most was that none of those elements needed to resolve completely. Somehow, despite t