Some ideas arrive as a finished image. Others take time to find their shape. On the Drawing Board is a look into the subjects, ideas, and visual questions I’m currently exploring in the studio. These are works in progress—not only in paint, but in thought. Each study begins with a curiosity and evolves through experimentation, observation, and the unexpected discoveries that happen along the way.
A dancer suspended between beats. An athlete pushing beyond the possible. A skateboarder carving through concrete, gravity, and air. A body leaping, spinning, racing, balancing, flying. Bodies in Motion celebrates the beauty, power, rhythm, and raw expression of movement. This is where sport becomes art, physicality becomes language, and the human body tells a story without saying a word. Explore the poetry of dance, athletics, skateboarding, and beyond—capturing those fleeting moments when strength meets grace, motion meets emotion, and the ordinary becomes extraordinary.
Exploring the use of color to help portray the energy of dance and motion.
This quick sketch is mainly in black and white. I've just added one color to affect the mood of the piece.
I loved the body language of this latin dancer. This is a charcoal sketch to start the process of exploration.
This is a color study to explore what palettes would work best for the final painting.
Water is never still. It shifts, reflects, distorts, conceals, reveals—and transforms everything it touches. Water Works is an ongoing study of water in all its forms: from the quiet geometry of reflections to the restless energy of waves, from submerged figures suspended in light to the fleeting shimmer that dances across a surface. These paintings explore the ways water alters our perception of the world, bending bodies, light, color, and space into something both familiar and otherworldly.
At times, water becomes a mirror. At others, a veil, a force, or a place to disappear into. Through underwater portraits, ripples, reflections, movement, and changing light, the work considers the boundary between what is seen and what is beneath the surface. Each painting is an attempt to capture something inherently transient—a moment of light, a shifting reflection, the weightlessness of a body underwater, or the instant before a surface settles again.
Water Works is less a study of water itself than of what water makes possible: another way of seeing.
Beneath the surface, light behaves differently. It breaks apart, shifts in color, and moves across the body in constantly changing patterns. Water becomes a filter—softening edges, distorting features, and transforming familiar skin tones into unexpected blues, violets, turquoise, and flashes of warmer color.
In these underwater portraits, I’m interested in that moment when reflection and reality begin to overlap. The surface above catches the light and sends it downward, creating fractured reflections that drift across the figure. Hair floats, bubbles rise, and color seems to move through the water rather than simply sit on the surface of the painting.
The water creates a kind of visual distortion—an altered version of the person that is both recognizable and dreamlike. Color becomes a record of light passing through water, capturing something fleeting: the shimmer of the surface, the movement of the body, and the constantly changing relationship between what is above and what lies beneath.
The result is less a portrait of someone underwater than a portrait transformed by water and light.
Water's reflection seems almost magical sometimes. Sometimes it is as clear as a mirror—the upside-down version of the world—and other times it beautifully distorts the object with color and light. A slight breeze, a ripple, or a change in the angle of light can transform a familiar image into something entirely unexpected.
I’m fascinated by this shifting space between reflection and reality. Water can stretch, fragment, blur, and rearrange what we see, while simultaneously capturing the colors of the sky, the surrounding landscape, and the light moving across its surface. What appears to be a reflection can become almost abstract—a fleeting composition of shape, color, and movement.
In these paintings, I’m exploring that moment when the reflected image begins to take on a life of its own, where the distinction between what is actually there and what the water is creating becomes wonderfully uncertain.