My paintings question what commands attention in a landscape, what escapes it, and what becomes visible when attention shifts. I begin with familiar subjects such as gathering weather, changing light, cultivated land, and human-made structures, looking beyond their immediate appearance to the forces and relationships shaping what I see.

I approach landscape not as scenery, but as evidence. A river retains the shape of its former course. The atmosphere changes before the first drop of rain falls. Fog can make a structure hundreds of feet tall nearly disappear. Collecting fossils along England’s Jurassic Coast deepened this way of looking. Holding an ammonite makes tangible what the landscape continually demonstrates: the present carries evidence of what came before it. Change can happen quickly or accumulate so gradually that its traces become visible only over time.

Geometry gives structure to these observations. It is the oldest language I know, present in river systems, weather patterns, cultivated fields, and human-made structures. In my paintings, geometry establishes order that atmosphere, light, and shifting color begin to complicate. Moving between abstraction and representation allows some elements to recede while others become more prominent, shifting emphasis without losing a connection to the observed world. Layers of acrylic, oil, and graphite bring observations made at different moments together on a single surface, allowing the paintings themselves to build through accumulation and revision.

Familiarity can give us the sense that a landscape is already known. Painting offers me a way to question that certainty and consider what else might be present. Rather than direct viewers toward a single way of seeing, I want the paintings to open possibilities: to encourage curiosity, shift attention, and leave room for discoveries of their own.