artist

My passion for transcribing my feelings onto canvas began in 1953 when I was eight years old. I still remember it as if it were yesterday: I stood alone, eyes wide, taking in each paint stroke and color of a Van Gogh painting, mesmerized not only by the art but by the technique he used. Each stroke seemed to leap off the canvas, as if it had something to say. I was overcome by the feeling that I’d found the first clue to what would eventually lead to my destiny as a painter, as if my intuition were shouting, “You’ve done this before!” My past lives were calling. I immediately began devising a plan to obtain the supplies I needed to get started and embarked on my journey into painting.

I’ve been through many tough experiences in my life, which created a hard shell on the outside. But when I paint, I’m free to express the softness I feel inside. The canvas is the only place where I can be vulnerable, where the shell breaks, and I can be honest about my wounds, my losses, my pain, and my grief. It’s also a place where I can express my happiness, my pride, and the things in life that bring me joy.

What I want to accomplish with my painting is a way to be myself, letting the walls fall and allowing emotions to take over the brush. My passion is a hurricane of emotions, a mirror into my soul, helping me become more comfortable with my scars. More than leaving a legacy behind, I want my paintings to be a friend to the viewer. Hopefully, they can find the comfort I feel when I see them. From my point of view, we are all walking paintings that haven’t yet been transcribed onto canvas, carrying all the colors of the good and bad we’ve been through—a reflection of our battles that made us rise and our downfalls that made us stronger. The wound is the place where the light enters you, and the canvas, brush, and paint are the vehicles through which I can capture that light.