From when I was a young child, even when I had most of my hearing, I’ve always felt closer to animals and nature than humans. I’ve always seen a problem with how distant so much of our cities and towns feel to the way that a forest should wrap around our bodies, or the feeling of standing on a mountaintop, looking around, and only seeing wilderness.
I’ve painted animals, from my own dogs to the foxes and unicorns in my dreams, from when I picked up my first pencil and learned to sketch by sitting with whatever animal would tolerate my closeness and attention. I drew things I wished were real in the horns I gave my horses and the fairies I wanted to become. This is something I still do now. When I pick up a paintbrush, I love to paint flying owls because in their wings, I imagine myself flying, too, and that’s what I want for my viewers to feel. I want to pick you up and take you somewhere you’ve always wanted to go, a wild place.
Most of all—I want to remind every human that spies something I’ve painted to take a step off the hard pavement of the sidewalk and find a meadow, lie down, and stare at the clouds; to walk on the beach and allow the waves to soak your feet; to take a long walk in the woods, maybe even up the side of a mountain until you reach the place where the wind steals your soul.
I am currently exploring queer ecology and diversity in nature and animals to illustrate and advocate for diversity amongst humans. I hope to continue to evolve my artistic practice towards affirmations that encourage us to view ourselves and other humans as vital components of a cohesive and interconnected ecosystem.
The natural world—the wild places—are connected to all of us while we simultaneous ruin them. I’d like each piece of artwork that I make act as a prayer to repair our relationship with nature, a siren song to the wilderness, to hang on while we learn, and we heal, and we dream ourselves closer.
FLYING OWL PAINTING 