Art Blog:

2024

2024 marked my official return to a dedicated creative practice. I left the corporate world and dove headfirst into making art—no safety net, no clear landing plan. While my work appeared focused on the surface—black acrylic on wood, anchored in themes of consciousness—internally I was riddled with self-doubt. I felt scattered, unsure, and constantly questioning myself.

The biggest hurdle was committing to the Sunshine Coast Art Crawl. Terrifying doesn’t quite cover it. The thought of strangers—and worse, friends—standing in front of my work, possibly in silence, felt unbearable. It was like jumping off a cliff in freefall, clutching a roll of duct tape and telling myself, You’ve got this. In hindsight, I didn’t really have it at all.

Then something unexpected happened. The first painting sold. Then another. Then another. Strangers from the city—not just friends or acquaintances—connected with my work enough to take it home. That validation was powerful.

Looking back, 2024 was pivotal. It was the most frightening year of my creative life, but also the most rewarding. The encouragement and sales gave me the courage to keep going—even though I still felt like I was falling, unsure of where or how I would land.

2025

When I look back at the sheer volume of work and number of shows in 2025, it’s clear I may have been running on adrenaline from 2024. The pace wasn’t sustainable. I felt more like a machine than an artist, producing without pausing to ask myself why.

Throughout the year, a quiet voice kept nudging me toward colour. But I know myself well enough to understand that when things feel chaotic, the answer isn’t always to add more—it’s to slow down and return to basics.

Outside the studio, the world felt increasingly unhinged. Global politics, widening divisions, rising tensions, and the looming threat of U.S. tariffs on Canada’s economy made everything feel heavy and uncertain. So naturally, we did the only reasonable thing: we got a puppy.

Our rescue dog, Luna, turned out to be an unexpected creative catalyst. Through her curiosity and awe, I began to experience the world differently—more vividly, more playfully. She became my guide into colour exploration. While I stayed grounded in my black-on-wood work and continued exploring consciousness, I also allowed myself to wander into a series of small, whimsical abstract landscapes inspired by Luna’s sense of wonder. Through her eyes, the world became technicolour—rich with texture, emotion, and sensory joy.

In retrospect, 2025 was a necessary detour. A year without guardrails. I felt like a four-year-old in a sandbox—curious, experimental, and unburdened by expectations. It was messy, freeing, and exactly what I needed.

2026

As 2026 begins, I can feel spring approaching—maybe literally, maybe just emotionally. This winter has delivered some of the most breathtaking skies I can remember: glowing sunsets, dramatic clouds, fog-drenched mornings, northern lights, and star-filled nights. I’ve spent more time looking up at the sky in the last three months than I have in the last thirty years combined.

I’m still exploring landscapes as I continue refining my colour mixing, and I’ve begun introducing colour into my black-on-wood abstract series. Lately, my focus has been drawn upward—to sky, atmosphere, and the vastness above us.

My goal moving forward is to return to the theme of consciousness, but this time by bridging all of my visual languages. I want to allow space for colour, texture, and movement while preserving the clean lines and restraint that ground my work. In essence, I’m building on what began in 2025.

Going forward, my website will feature two parallel bodies of work: abstract and landscape. I’m not quite ready to let go of landscapes—they offer a sense of calm and grounding that I value deeply.

For now, I’m letting both worlds coexist.