The soul who sees beauty may sometimes walk alone. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.
I see beauty even in a world scarred by blind competition, insatiable greed, willful ignorance and unfounded optimism. Amusingly though, and despite overwhelming odds, beauty seems to self-generate in the poor soil we call life.
And if, as Goethe also wrote, we are shaped and fashioned by what we love then, by extension, so too is my work which is grounded in western history; freighted with restraint and discipline; measured equally in emotion and intellect; and, most importantly, detailed only with what enhances the poetic narrative. To see my work is to sense who I am.
The human condition is riveting. How people act on, react to, feel about, guard against, engage with, hope for, and self-delude is a story thousands of years old; and art historians will note that I am no different from those before me who told some version of that narrative on the stone of Lascaux’ caves, ancient Egyptian papyrus scrolls, medieval vellum sheets, or whatever was on hand. I, like others before and will come after me, also know that what is portrayed is not necessarily what is there.
My work is straightforward; often, the mood is sombre. But everything is deliberate, calibrated, and edited to enhance (or even create from whole cloth) that beauty which one sees only by walking alone.
I almost always walk alone. Even in the most crowded of spaces, I almost always walk alone.