I’m moved by the wild places, not just for their beauty, but for how they make me feel: expansive, small, alive, connected.
I’m inspired by the crash of waves and the hush of fog, by salt air and forest light, by ancient ridgelines and tangled roots. These are not things I try to depict—but sensations I try to translate.
My ancestors lived close to the land—hunters, gatherers, mountain folk. Their reverence for nature was passed down to me like a birthright. I remember tracking deer with my father on a frozen night under a blue-lit moon. The awe of that moment never left me.
It lives in my work as a kind of frequency—a quiet knowing.
Oceans, lakes, ponds, rivers, streams, creeks - All the water compels me, soothes me, terrifies me, makes me feel alive. Energetic movement, fully body movement. Small moments in little tidepools, crevices in rocks. The gentle waving of seaweed floating along the shore. The booming crash of boats colliding, trees cracking and falling, wooden docks splintering. The choking, disorienting sensation of drowning. Not taking in air - my gills are forming as I submerge. Deeply, tenderly, violently. Letting go. It's the push and pull - resistance and release of being born anew beneath the surface. Scratched marks are twigs, spindly reeds, marshes. Loons calling their haunting cry. Circles are stones, pebbles, shells, sun, moon. The circle of life as we come from water. Water sustains us. Fulfills us. Drives us mad in our search to quench our thirst. A human right to have pureness flow to redeem us. Green golden lushness. Sandy shores. Red is life blood, given and taken at the water's mercy. Coral pinks, the feminine energy, binds us to itself. Lavenders of flowers, larkspur. Twinkles of lights moving among the shadows. The rain pouring forth, water into water. We are nothing, insignificant. But alive. Submerging myself I feel it all. Black lines of structure, hints of landforms. History that has come before and follows after. We must be in the present moment, open, fully aware to truly feel and be. Mountains, ranges, cliffs, rocks, boulders, ground us among the watery earth. The feel of solidity, carved by water over eons of millennia. Holding on for support as the water pulls the sand from beneath our feet. It's all a process. Trust the process. Building of layers, carving crevices, hidden sights. Something playing peekaboo, playfulness, joy. Abundance. A gift. Politics are apolitical. Water IS and MUST. And we need it to live. Without it, we die. Perish. Return to dust. Dust is without water, a draining of life. It is where we all return when the water is done. It's completed its purpose in that moment. It feels like infinity but is finite. We are not gods. We don't get to choose. Water chooses for us. It is the feminine energy of the complete lifecycle, birth to death. The dream is to return to the womb, cradled warm and safe. Floating. Existing. No end and no beginning. The heavens split, the lightening chars. The thunder shakes the foundations. Water pours forth and mingles with the dust. Life is breathed, reincarnated, something new. And so it is as it should be.
〰️
Oceans, lakes, ponds, rivers, streams, creeks - All the water compels me, soothes me, terrifies me, makes me feel alive. Energetic movement, fully body movement. Small moments in little tidepools, crevices in rocks. The gentle waving of seaweed floating along the shore. The booming crash of boats colliding, trees cracking and falling, wooden docks splintering. The choking, disorienting sensation of drowning. Not taking in air - my gills are forming as I submerge. Deeply, tenderly, violently. Letting go. It's the push and pull - resistance and release of being born anew beneath the surface. Scratched marks are twigs, spindly reeds, marshes. Loons calling their haunting cry. Circles are stones, pebbles, shells, sun, moon. The circle of life as we come from water. Water sustains us. Fulfills us. Drives us mad in our search to quench our thirst. A human right to have pureness flow to redeem us. Green golden lushness. Sandy shores. Red is life blood, given and taken at the water's mercy. Coral pinks, the feminine energy, binds us to itself. Lavenders of flowers, larkspur. Twinkles of lights moving among the shadows. The rain pouring forth, water into water. We are nothing, insignificant. But alive. Submerging myself I feel it all. Black lines of structure, hints of landforms. History that has come before and follows after. We must be in the present moment, open, fully aware to truly feel and be. Mountains, ranges, cliffs, rocks, boulders, ground us among the watery earth. The feel of solidity, carved by water over eons of millennia. Holding on for support as the water pulls the sand from beneath our feet. It's all a process. Trust the process. Building of layers, carving crevices, hidden sights. Something playing peekaboo, playfulness, joy. Abundance. A gift. Politics are apolitical. Water IS and MUST. And we need it to live. Without it, we die. Perish. Return to dust. Dust is without water, a draining of life. It is where we all return when the water is done. It's completed its purpose in that moment. It feels like infinity but is finite. We are not gods. We don't get to choose. Water chooses for us. It is the feminine energy of the complete lifecycle, birth to death. The dream is to return to the womb, cradled warm and safe. Floating. Existing. No end and no beginning. The heavens split, the lightening chars. The thunder shakes the foundations. Water pours forth and mingles with the dust. Life is breathed, reincarnated, something new. And so it is as it should be. 〰️
