I took up drawing and painting when I was a teenager, after the early death of my father. One morning, I was moping around and I headed outside to sit in the shade by the roses. Then it happened. I saw Beauty. I capitalize Beauty because as I was looking at this tired old rose, my perception subtly shifted and my grey world transformed into sparkling, shimmering, vibrating color. Instead of just an old flower, I saw light filtering through the petals, turning them luminescent and brilliant. I was captivated by the pattern of shadows. I felt no sense of separation between the rose, and me. It was miraculous. The ordinary had transformed into the extraordinary because something in me had changed.
I paint so that I can see and experience Beauty. Painting is an expressive, emotional and (paradoxically) nonverbal language. Painting is the language of relationships—the interplay of light and shadow, color, movement. It commands the painter to look beyond objects and see that nothing can be viewed in isolation, but rather in constant relationship to its environment. To see, for example, how a muted blue can appear intense relative to the grays around it or a cool red can appear warm relative to the blues around it. In painting, a cup is not a “cup,” it’s a shape, with curvature and reflected light. Something as simple as a cup has its own truth, and my role as an artist is to render that truth so others can commune with Beauty, too.