Artist Statement

Creation is intrinsically human. Every moment in the studio is an act of faith: a breath, a pause, a decision. My work brings together two impulses that seem at odds—the wild energy of abstract painting and the quiet discipline of traditional figure drawing. For me, this is more than art; it is a language, with each part expressing an important truth about being made in God’s image.

 

Abstract painting, especially when I use egg tempera and Sumi-e ink, often seems disordered at first. But over time, a kind of order appears. The layers build up like sediment, moving in unanticipated ways until they settle into something final. Egg tempera is thick and demands that I adapt, since it is hard to correct. Sumi-e ink is different; it requires trust because each mark is permanent and complete, like a breath of life. In these instances, I let my intuition guide me, letting hue and motion find their own balance. Each piece holds the wild splendor of creation and reminds us that even chaos has its own order.

 

Then I turn to the figure. Using graphite, Prismacolor, and soft pastels, I approach the human form with care and respect. Much of my work is about bringing the body back to a sense of sacredness. I don’t just draw figures; I try to show the grace and finesse in every curve, tendon, and imperfection. The body is not simply a shell or an accident—it is the structure of the soul and a sign of sacred design.

 

Abstract chaos and figurative clarity might seem impossible to combine. But isn’t that what life is like? We are both dust and breath, flesh and spirit, temporary yet lasting. My work explores these tensions, looking for the place where the unknown meets the real. That is where I find the deepest beauty.

 

Some people might say that abstraction feels impersonal, that a field of tone and motion can’t be as personal as a human figure. I see it differently. Emotions, thoughts, and memories are hard to touch, but we feel them before we can explain them. My abstract work tries to capture that space where the mind can’t name what the heart already knows. Each layer is like a verse, each mark a prayer—a visual psalm.

 

The body is often ignored or objectified, but to me, it is deeply sacred. It carries history, longing, pain, and joy. When I draw people, I am not just drawing anatomy. I am witnessing and honoring the fact that every body matters. I hang onto these words: This body was made in the image of God. This body is holy, even with its scars and fragility.

 

Art is connected to the idea of creation. In Genesis, we first learn that God creates. If we are made in His image, then creating is a way to share in that divine act. But creation is rarely tidy or easy. It means stretching a canvas, knowing it might resist. It means pressing pigment into paper, knowing it will change over time. It means accepting uncertainty and trusting that beauty often appears where we least expect it.

 

I don’t pretend to understand everything I create. I am just part of the process, a vessel for something beyond myself. Some days, the work flows easily; other days, it is a struggle. But it is always an offering—a way to discover meaning in the world’s chaos, to see the sacred in the everyday, and to remind myself and others that beauty is not just luck.

 

At its core, my work is about worship. Either through the lively energy of abstraction or the calm respect of the human form, I intend to show the Creator in creation. If someone stands before my work and feels something awaken inside—something old, something sacred—then I have fulfilled my purpose.