Dappled Dawn
2018, enamel, oil sticks, oil, resin on panel, 96×60”

Dappled Dawn is a memory held in color and texture—a foggy blue forest with pink light just beginning to break through. It’s not a literal place, but it carries the imprint of a life spent among trees. For 25 years, I lived on the side of a mountain, surrounded by acres of forest and a cast of wild neighbors: bears, deer, guinea hens, and woodpeckers that drilled their rhythms into the day. The mornings were slow and holy. This painting holds that stillness, and also the sense of slow emergence.

Created after I moved to New York City, the piece became a way to keep the forest with me—large, layered, and immersive. Oil stick lines suggest branches and movement; resin gives a gloss of mist or memory. The trees no longer surround me physically, but their presence hasn’t left. They still shape the way I see light, space, and silence.

Dappled Dawn is both a farewell and a return. A map of the in-between: city life layered over rural memory, the past bleeding softly into the present. The forest hasn’t gone—it’s simply changed form.

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