paintings
Painting is a bizarre and magical affair. It tears channels between what I think I know, and what I wish to know about the world; between where I am, and where I imagine being. There are things that speak to me without words, and often without warning: the history of a World War ll bomber; the dreamworld of my dog. They lure me (when I least expect) into new personal dialogues and insights, revealing ways to cope with what I don't understand, and ways to be a happier person.