Artist Statement

Creation is profoundly human. Every moment spent in the studio is faith-based —a breath, a hesitation, a choice. My work reflects two seemingly contradictory impulses: the wild, uncontainable energy of abstract painting versus the quiet discipline and reverence for traditional figure drawing. It goes beyond artistry; it becomes a matter of language, each asserting a distinct yet vital truth about being created in God’s image.

Abstract painting, especially when coupled with egg tempera and Sumi-e ink, presents a scenario of chaos. However, chaos reveals itself after a while, revealing an order in its own right. Layers happen like sediment, turning haphazardly in their course until they dry into something unavoidable. The egg tempera is viscous and makes one surrender; it does not allow easy correction but insists on adaptation. Sumi-e ink is quite another matter: an exercise in trust. There is no possibility of a stroke. It stands as it is, whole and complete, the breath of life itself. Here, I allowed my intuition to take charge and color along with the movement to find harmony. In each work, there is the whirling, capricious beauty of the creation while reminding us that even in chaos, there is some order.

Then comes the figure. Graphite, Prismacolor, and soft pastels- the human form demands precision and reverence. For much of my world, I am trying to restore the body to its body as it was in a more sacred time. I do not draw figures; instead, I reveal the inherent grace and artistry that each curve, tendon, and imperfection carries. The body is not an accident or an exterior vessel; it is the architecture of the soul-a manifestation of divine intention.

These two possibilities, abstract chaos, and figurative clarity may seem irreconcilable. But isn’t that the very essence of life? We are dust and breath, flesh and spirit, transient yet eternal in our essence. My work grapples with these tensions by searching for the space where the ungraspable meets the tangible. It is here that I encounter the most profound beauty.

One could easily argue that abstraction is highly impersonal. An open field of color and movement can never be as personal as a human figure. I would say otherwise, though. These emotions, thoughts, and memories are intangible to the tangible. They are felt first in advance of being understood. My abstract work captures that liminal space where the mind cannot name what the heart already knows. They are visual psalms: each layer a verse, each stroke a prayer.

While often overlooked or objectified, the body is the most sacred of topics. It holds history, longing, pain, and joy. In drawing human forms, I do not draw anatomy. I am there to witness and find that this body matters. On these words: This body was made in the image of God. This body is holy, though it bears all its scars and fragility.

Art has creation theology. In Genesis, the first thing we learn about God is that He creates. If we are in His image, then to make it is to partake in the divine act again. However, creation isn’t always neat. It isn’t comfortable either. It is stretching a canvas, knowing it will fight back. Pressing pigment into paper, knowing it will change with time. Embracing uncertainty and knowing beauty often springs up where it is least expected.

I cannot claim to know everything about what I create. I’m just a player in this game, a vessel for praise that is beyond myself. Some days, the work comes easily; others, it’s like pulling teeth. Still, it’s always an offering—a way to make sense of the chaos in the world, of the sacred in the ordinary, and to remind myself and maybe others that beauty is not fortuitous.

My work is ultimately about worship. In either the frenetic energy of abstraction or the quiet reverence of the human form, I try to show the Creator in creation. If, for a moment, someone stands before my work and feels something awaken in him—something primordial, something sacred—then I have done what I was meant to do.

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