My paintings have always contained beings and creatures in relationship with one another. They exist in a world where trust is natural, where tenderness is possible, where joy is shared, and where every living thing belongs. For many years I didn't understand why I kept returning to this world. I simply knew I needed to paint it.

After completing my master's degree at UC Berkeley, I began to recognize that the world I had been painting was not fantasy or escape. It was an emotional truth. My creatures were embodying the relationships I longed for —relationships built on trust rather than fear, connection rather than shame, curiosity rather than judgment, and love rather than power. The paintings had become a place of refuge, but also a quiet act of transformation.

Today, I understand that every painting is an invitation into that transformative world — a world where beings recognize one another, where vulnerability is met with kindness, and where the boundaries between humans, creatures, and nature dissolve into relationships of mutual care.

If viewers leave my work feeling, even for a moment, that such a world is possible—that love, trust, joy, and belonging can exist between all living beings—then the paintings have done what they have successfully done their job.

My earliest influences were the illustrations of John R. Neill, from “The Lost Princess of Oz”, Medieval Russian Icons, and Hieronymus Bosch. Japanese prints and Chinese scrolls were a part of my early life, as my father had been given some replicas as gifts. Hokusai in particular is an artist I feel a continuing affinity towards. As a young adult I became fascinated with the Blue Rider group and the art of Gabrielle Munter. I have always loved the paintings of Goya because of his imaginative horrific beauty, awkward compelling compositions, and his courageous brushwork. In a more contemporary vein, amidst many painters I admire are Edward Hopper, Sigmar Polke, Amy Sherald,  Jaune Quick-to-See Smith and Kerry James Marshall.