2026, ink, acrylic, graphite, water color, & plaster on canvas, 24x36x.5 in.
My current series, Somatic Journaling, began as a way of setting down the constant flow of digital information and returning to an embodied experience. Each work begins with sustained attention to ordinary physical sensations—tension in my jaw, the rhythm of breathing, heaviness in my limbs, or how sound feels when my eyes and mind rest. I translate these observations through color, gesture, line, and layered surfaces.
Where my previous series, “House and Home,” explored sanctuary through people, histories, and places, this work turns inward to the most intimate and universal space: the body.
I've come to think of attention as the last currency we truly wield, and often the first commodity to be stolen. These paintings are a way of reclaiming mine. Where I once disconnected from discomfort, I practice listening and staying present. There is a kind of self-love and autonomy in that return. These works are quiet records of returning ownership to my attention, perception, and experience.
2026, ink, acrylic, graphite, water color, & plaster on canvas, 24x36x.5 in.
My current series, Somatic Journaling, began as a way of setting down the constant flow of digital information and returning to an embodied experience. Each work begins with sustained attention to ordinary physical sensations—tension in my jaw, the rhythm of breathing, heaviness in my limbs, or how sound feels when my eyes and mind rest. I translate these observations through color, gesture, line, and layered surfaces.
Where my previous series, “House and Home,” explored sanctuary through people, histories, and places, this work turns inward to the most intimate and universal space: the body.
I've come to think of attention as the last currency we truly wield, and often the first commodity to be stolen. These paintings are a way of reclaiming mine. Where I once disconnected from discomfort, I practice listening and staying present. There is a kind of self-love and autonomy in that return. These works are quiet records of returning ownership to my attention, perception, and experience.
