“So fine was the morning except for a streak of wind here and there that the sea and sky looked all one fabric, as if sails were stuck high up in the sky, or the clouds had dropped down into the sea.”

― Virginia Woolf, To The Lighthouse

Gathering impressions and shapes from the natural world around me, I explore intimate familial relationships and their meanings. The leafy patterns, thin washes of paint, threads, and unsettled shapes, are all arranged to suggest the limitlessness and obscurity of motherhood. I find myself suddenly so absorbed in the emotional terrain of my little ones, whether luminous or stormy, with no map. Here, the work rises up, like hills from which to climb, roll down, hold, and feel. 

Figures can at times be found in these abstracted landscapes, and we find ourselves among them: asking why, asking how, and asking when. And we are also silent. Breathing. Listening. Waiting. The paint moves and grows, as if trying to behave like a cloud of ferns, and the pieces become not just an investigation of but also an encounter with vulnerability. By moving between figuration and abstraction, I uncover new terrain, and follow these unresolved spaces into an unnamed tenderness.