I came to art not by training, but through a long process of returning to myself. After years of working as a farmer, truck driver, electrician, and later as a therapist, I left behind every identity I had built or inherited. What remained was a quiet pull toward curiosity, toward the parts of me I had long abandoned. Art found me in that space.

My work currently lives in a place of intuition and play. I often use simple materials like markers, colored pencils, tape, color-changing lights. My use of grids and a six-color system offers boundaries rather than limitations, creating a container to explore freedom, intimacy, and trust. Within that structure, I follow what draws me. I welcome repetition, mistake, and flow.

I’m drawn to patterns (how they form, collapse, and re-emerge) both in my work and within myself. Sometimes following a pattern helps me out of a pattern. My creative process is a kind of meditation: quiet, patient, often slow. It becomes a space where change happens without force, where something new can unfold gently.

My work explores the tension and harmony between opposites. Precision and softness, structure and chaos, color and shadow. When light interacts with my drawn patterns, the image appears to move or breathe— like something living, something becoming. I hope the viewer feels that movement too. A fleeting sense of noticing, of reflection, of being invited to let go and see what emerges in the space that remains.