My paintings explore what becomes possible when we stop trying to get everything right.

I create through sweeping gestures, layered color, looping lines, drips, and unexpected shifts. I don't begin with a fixed destination. One decision leads to another, and I try to stay open long enough to let the painting become something I couldn't have planned.

For me, that's where the freedom is.

So much of life asks us to plan, manage, perfect, and know what comes next. My paintings offer an escape from that pressure. You don't need to understand everything you see or arrive at the "right" interpretation. The work leaves room for uncertainty, surprise, and whatever you bring to it.

That relationship with control is especially meaningful to me because I've spent much of my professional life working with words. As a writer, editor, and content strategist, precision matters. I make a living finding the right language, shaping ideas, and making things clear.

Painting gives me a place where I don't have to.

In the studio, I can communicate through movement instead of explanation. I can make a mark without knowing exactly where it will lead, respond to what happens next, and allow something unexpected to change the entire direction of a painting.

Some parts of my work, however, carry very specific memories.

Gold has become a recurring element because of my grandmother's "gold room." She collected gold frames, figurines, lamps, and treasured objects, filling one corner of my grandparents' home with warmth and shimmer. I still associate gold with that feeling of connection, and traces of it continue to find their way into my paintings.

My long-standing meditation practice has also shaped how I work. As a certified meditation teacher, I've spent years thinking about attention and presence. In the studio, those ideas become physical—marks, layers, movement, and choices made in real time.

I want my paintings to remain alive once they leave my studio. Not something that simply fills an empty wall, but something you continue to notice as you live with it—when the light changes, when a detail catches your attention, or when you return to it as a slightly different version of yourself.

You spend enough of your life needing answers.

Your art doesn't have to give you one.

Based in Charlotte, North Carolina, my work has been selected for juried and group exhibitions and is shown year-round at Charlotte Studio Artists in NoDa.