I grew up watching Bob Ross paint his “happy little clouds” and insist there were no mistakes when it came to painting. He said anyone could be a painter, even me. I was mesmerized. It was many years later, when my son started first grade, that I started to paint. It was a place of experimenting -- and discovering what might happen next. A place where surprises might surface, on the canvas, and inside of me.

I like to paint silhouettes of colorful women, the divine feminine. Women who are lost and who are found. Women who are hidden and who are seen.  Women who don’t belong and belong more than ever. They can not be defined.  They can not be diminished.  They are no one. They are everyone. 

With all of painting there is waiting.  There is nothingness.  And yet, something emerges.  Eventually.  Mercifully.  Only to disappear again.  Into the darkness.  Until the next moment.  And the next.  

Art reveals that there is no arrival. Only being found over and over again.