CITYSCAPES, A JOURNEY
These cities have no people.
They sit at the water's edge — imagined, loosely built from the memory of cities in general rather than any one city in particular. They are beautiful and they are empty and they are waiting for something that may or may not arrive. Whether they are places where things begin or places where things end, I have never been entirely sure. Perhaps both. Perhaps that is the same thing.
I painted these between 2016 and 2017, in mixed media on paper and canvas. They are quiet works — quieter than most of what I make. No bodies, no text, no political charge. Just the water and the buildings and the light and the absence of anyone to witness it.
Series are mixed media on paper and canvas. Original works available.
They sit at the water's edge — imagined, loosely built from the memory of cities in general rather than any one city in particular. They are beautiful and they are empty and they are waiting for something that may or may not arrive. Whether they are places where things begin or places where things end, I have never been entirely sure. Perhaps both. Perhaps that is the same thing.
I painted these between 2016 and 2017, in mixed media on paper and canvas. They are quiet works — quieter than most of what I make. No bodies, no text, no political charge. Just the water and the buildings and the light and the absence of anyone to witness it.
Series are mixed media on paper and canvas. Original works available.
Windows to Childhood
These are smaller and more intimate — memories rather than places. The feeling of how things used to look and how that looking used to feel. Nostalgia not for a specific childhood but for the particular quality of light and space and safety that childhood holds — and that adulthood slowly takes away.
A window is always looking in two directions at once.
Series are mixed media on paper and canvas. Original works available.
A window is always looking in two directions at once.
Series are mixed media on paper and canvas. Original works available.










