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I didn’t grow up wanting to be an artist so much as I grew up watching . I was the quiet kid, always observing, always imagining. I loved books, loved the feeling that my toys and the trees in my yard were alive and full of stories. I loved being outside at dusk, when the streetlights came on and houses glowed from within. I liked wondering about the lives unfolding behind those windows, knowing I could return somewhere safe. The first time art really caught me was when I was

I paint landscapes with trees, light, and houses at dusk because I’m drawn to that in-between space, the moment where the world feels quiet enough to notice something deeper. Trees have always felt like silent witnesses to me, protective and steady, holding space rather than demanding attention. Light filtering through branches, or glowing from a house against the cold, carries a sense of warmth, promise, and refuge. The feeling that someone is there, waiting, even if you’re

Winter Blues 11"x14" mixed media encaustic I have to admit, I have a complicated relationship with winter. It shifts from year to year, depending on my mental, emotional, and physical reserves heading into the season. Some winters, I’m able to move through it with relative ease without too much grumbling or angst. When that happens, I’ve noticed a clear pattern. The common denominator seems to be how intentionally I’m being with my time: how often I’m channeling my creativity