36 x 36 x 2”
Acrylic on Canvas
What remains standing
Stark, spectral, and quietly menacing, this painting stages a surreal drama in a forest where nature is both witness and accomplice. The white tree trunks cut through the canvas like bones, bleached and rigid, while shadowy, hooded figures perch like watchful phantoms—silent and unknowable. There's a haunting rhythm here, a push-pull between light and dark, clarity and ambiguity. It’s gothic, not in style but in atmosphere, like a dream where the trees remember what the figures forget. The dripping paint adds a sense of decay, as if the image itself is rotting inward. It sticks with you.
Acrylic on Canvas
36 x 36 x 2”
The Quiet Conqueror
Nature isn't just present here — it's dominant. Thick layers of green pour down over skeletal branches, wrapping, claiming, erasing. The trees have lost the fight, but not their form. They're still visible, still reaching, though now entombed in foliage. The pale, peach-toned sky adds an uncanny silence, suggesting time has stopped or rewound. This is a painting about reclamation. It doesn’t mourn the trees; it venerates the wild force that outlives them.
Acrylic on Canvas
36 x 36 x 2”
Rock that won’t die
Honestly? It’s about the drama of nothingness. It’s about a single stubborn thing sticking out in a world that’s trying hard not to care. It’s about tenacity. How life just won’t quit, even on a cracked, sun-bleached rock in the middle of a dead landscape.
There’s a kind of existential poetry here. The rock doesn’t need to be majestic. It just is. And that’s the magic — the artist sees it, elevates it, gives it a stage.
36 x 36 x 2”
acrylic on canvas
The listening pool
This painting feels like memory burned into a swamp. The black figures aren’t spirits anymore—they’re shadows that forgot how to leave. The forest hums with color but can’t shake the weight of what’s missing. Spirals pulse like the last signs of life on a heart monitor. Less elegy, more reckoning.
What the forest remembers
36 x 36 x 2”
acrylic on canvas
This is a painting that hums with wet, buzzing tension. Rain slices through the scene in vertical white streaks, not so much falling as marking territory. The forest is thick and stylized, a collage of green gestures and painterly shorthand, but it’s the figures—ghostlike and half-dissolved into the watery foreground—that steal the air. They aren’t bathing or wading; they’re waiting, watching, maybe haunting. The ripples are too perfect, too serene, a pattern fighting chaos. There’s something cinematic here, like a freeze-frame from a dream you’re not sure you want to remember. It’s beautiful and vaguely terrifying.
Liminal Nest
This is the kind of artwork that rewards repeat viewing. Its emotional tone and symbolic ambiguity make it both accessible and profound. It doesn’t rely on technical realism but rather on mood and metaphor—an approach that resonates strongly in contemporary visual culture.
36 x 36 x 2”
Acrylic on canvas
