The real wealth is not out in the world — it’s in the center of who we are.

The color doesn’t matter.
The shape doesn’t matter.
What matters is that moment of seeing.

Monoprint, collage on paper.

A face inside a landscape.
A landscape inside a memory.

This piece came from walking the same paths again and again,
until the park started to feel like part of me.

Painting, collage on panel.

Ink slips.
Color collides.
Something alive appears.

I stopped correcting —
and the painting found its own way.

Painting, collage on Panel.

This piece holds a moment of interruption.

A window left open.
A sudden gust.
A vase tipped over — but not broken.

Monoprint, Collage on Paper.

Inspired by my daily sunset walks through Fort Tryon Park, this piece captures the moment when golden light breaks through the trees and turns an ordinary path into something luminous and sacred. It is a meditation on gratitude, memory, and being quietly held by beauty at the end of the day.

Monoprint, Collage on Paper

A tiny plane,
a wide sky,
and the moment I let myself lift off.

This was the beginning —
when I started trusting my heart to fly.

Painting, Collage on Panel.

When you start really talking to someone, you realize how much is going on beneath what you first see — all the stories, struggles, wins, and twists that got them here.

That’s what this piece is about for me. It feels like a slice through a person or even through the land itself — kind of like the roots and winding paths I notice on my walks through Fort Tryon. Everything we are is layered in there.

Painting, Collage on Panel

I keep painting the Earth. I don’t think I can help it. When I read an astronaut talking about seeing our planet from space — no borders, just one fragile blue world — it hit me so hard.

That little figure reaching for the Earth is all of us, really. Trying to remember what actually matters.

Painting, Collage on Panel.

These shapes come from real zinnias I cut into stencils, bought at my local farmers market in August — still dusty with soil, still full of the summer sun.

Even when the flowers don’t last long in my house (thanks to the cats), I keep bringing them home. They’re little acts of hope, beauty, and connection to the hands that grew them.

Monoprint on Paper

Too many leaves.
Too many colors.
Everything growing anyway.

That’s the beauty.

Monoprint, Collage on Paper.

When my kids were little we lived in a house in the woods with these beautiful diamond-paned windows. I still think about how it felt to look through them at the forest — like being both protected and completely open to the world.

This piece came from that memory… and that question.

Monoprint, Collage on Paper.

Here, the “system” is handmade. Smudged. Emotional. Fallible.
It doesn’t dominate nature — it dissolves into it.

Monoprint on Paper.

I made this after getting completely lost in images from the James Webb and Hubble telescopes. All those stars, all that space, all that time… it just made me want to paint something simple and full of wonder.

Those gold dots are my way of holding that feeling.

Monoprint on Paper.

When you hike, you’re always looking for those little trail symbols — a yellow triangle, a blue circle painted on a tree — tiny clues that you’re still on the right path.

This piece feels like that to me… moving through complicated terrain, watching for the signs, and trusting that the stream will eventually lead you home.

Monoprint, Collage on Paper.

This red comes from a molecule that lives in both blood and leaves —
the same structure that helps us breathe and plants gather light.

Pattern, color, repetition, life —
all of it moving through one surface.

Painting on Canvas

Roses, vines, and threads of gold —
a mirror not for faces,
but for how things are made.

Every line a small act of devotion.

Monoprint, Ink on Paper.

I honestly don’t know what this “means” — and I kind of love that. I made it by just letting my hand move, following color and feeling instead of a plan.

Lately I’ve been trying to let my subconscious lead more in the studio, and this piece feels like what happens when I actually let go. It’s messy, alive, and totally from the heart.

Monoprint, Collage on Paper

Color, scent, leaf, shell —
I want it all inside me.

This is what love looks like
when it gets hungry.

Monoprint, Collage on Paper.

This one feels like heading toward something — a wall, a limit, a big moment — but still in motion. I keep seeing a seawall and streams of light, like there’s both danger and beauty in what’s ahead.

Maybe we’re all always trying not to hit the wall… or learning how to change course just in time.

Monoprint, Collage on Paper.