All paintings are priced
between $200 and $1500,
depending on size.
Price list available by email

I arrived at painting late in life, through a mysterious process more like grace received than like a decision made. But of course there were also many decisions, seeking teachers, workshops, painting groups and finally a studio space to foster my painting practice.

I spend hour after hour lost in blue, wondering whether it's Prussian blue I'm after or is it really Payne's gray I want, or will a bit of white be just the thing that makes me say ah, it's finished.  Is the burnt orange way too thick in that corner? I must answer only to a visceral aesthetic, no other "reasons" make sense. I'm in the world of seeing not thinking, of silence not words. I love the painting one afternoon and hate it the next morning, and sometimes, happily, the other way around.

I imagine I want to paint only abstractly (and sometimes I do), but over and over I find myself painting the human form. Sooner or later, as the abstract marks build up on the canvas, the hint of a body calls to me, almost compels me. Michelangelo famously said, "The sculptor's hand can only break the spell to free the figures slumbering in the stone."
 I often feel a mysterious human figure, usually a woman, is slumbering in the canvas, emerging, receding, on a journey to an unknowable destination, searching for home, staring out a window. Is she coming or going? Hard to say. Only that she’s enroute to a place she needs to go. I must find her.

I am drawn to mystery, to the unknowable, to the place before words. Cause and effect don’t answer my questions. I cannot fathom birth, death, breathing, love, forever, sunshine, an ocean, an elm tree, a woman crying in pain, a child shrieking with glee.

Philip Guston says:
“I don’t know what a painting is;
who knows what sets off even the desire to paint?”

Without knowing what or why, I am engaged for hours on end. No reason why I paint, no reason why this mark and not that one, no reason why the human form today or the feel of the sea tomorrow. Just the mysterious pull to have brush, rag, stick, knife dipped in color, to say no to one mark and yes to another. On a bad day I can’t tolerate not knowing what I’m doing; on a good day that mysterious uncertainty seems like life itself.

Since I'm not sure how I arrived at this wordless intersection of inner and outer experience, I can only hope that I get to stay for a long time to come.