The Studio Inside My Heart
Art That Speaks Without Explaining
About My Work
About My Work
I’ve been a working artist for over 40 years.
Not as a side hustle. Not as a retirement hobby. This is my profession, my livelihood, and honestly—my soul’s work.
I’ve sold paintings from NYC to LA. I’ve worked gallery shows and street markets. I’ve rebuilt my practice more times than I can count—after hurricanes, after heartbreak, after starting over at 70 with $37 in my bank account.
And through all of it, one thing remained constant: I paint what words can’t hold.
Every piece on this page began in a moment when language failed me.
Some were painted through grief. Some through joy. Some through sheer curiosity about what would happen if I let my hand move without my mind getting in the way.
But each one became a kind of silent conversation—between me and the canvas first, and now, between the painting and you.
My art isn’t decoration. It’s dialogue.
When you hang one of my originals in your home, you’re not just bringing in color. You’re bringing in energy. Frequency. A presence that shifts the room.
I’ve had people tell me they can feel a painting before they even see it. That’s not mystical—that’s just what happens when you pour your whole self into something.
Here’s the practical part:
I price my work based on decades of experience, quality materials, and the hours spent at the easel. These are investment pieces—made to last, made to mean something.
My originals are priced accordingly. They’re one of one. Irreplaceable.
I also offer prints for those who want to experience the energy of a piece in a more accessible way. They’re beautiful, high-quality, and affordable. I’m proud of them.
But if you’re drawn to an original and you want to live with it, reach out. Let’s talk. I’m happy to answer questions, send more photos, or tell you the story behind a piece.
What I won’t do is negotiate the worth of my work. Not because I’m rigid—but because I’ve spent a lifetime learning not to shrink myself to fit someone else’s budget or expectations.
If that resonates with you—welcome.
What you see here isn’t just art.
It’s evidence of my transformation. Proof that I survived, felt deeply, and finally had the courage to say in color what I couldn’t say out loud.
Let’s bring something beautiful into your life.
Love what you see? You can explore the full gallery—with sizes, prices, and what’s available—right here: Fine Art America. Bring a piece of soul and story into your space. Orignials and Fine Art Prints.
New Release: Blue Fear 💙
I’ve just released Blue Fear as a digital print download on Gumroad — and this one has a pulse.
I painted it in one long, breathless motion — the moment when fear stops being paralysis and turns into pure energy. It’s not about being afraid. It’s about that wild, electric second when you decide to move through it.
Now you can bring that energy into your own space. The digital file is formatted for easy printing — 7x9 on an 8x10 template with a one-inch white border, so it slips right into a simple frame.
Fear doesn’t always mean stop. Sometimes it means fly.
Autumn Falling captures the gentle descent of fall leaves in a dreamlike cascade of color and texture. Rich with earthy greens, golden ambers, and deep russets, this piece evokes the quiet surrender of the season — a visual poem of change, letting go, and the beauty of impermanence.
Each leaf, individually textured and delicately layered, creates a sense of movement and intimacy, as if the forest floor itself is whispering secrets to those who pause long enough to listen.
This is not just a painting — it’s a meditation on transition. A reminder that release can be graceful. That endings, like autumn, can be breathtakingly beautiful.
Perfect for those who find solace in nature, and for anyone navigating their own season of transformation.
This piece radiates warmth and nostalgia—perfect for anyone who cherishes the idea of “coming home” or longs for a peaceful corner in the middle of life’s wild fields.
Whether you grew up with red barns in your story or simply appreciate the poetry of rural landscapes, this painting invites you to pause, breathe, and remember the strength that comes from roots planted deep in familiar ground.
She bloomed from the quiet.
Layer by layer, petal by petal—
a reminder that beauty doesn't rush, and power doesn’t shout.
She is softness with a spine.
Painted in a moment of deep reflection, Lady Rose carries the energy of emergence, embodiment, and soul unfolding. For any woman who’s learning to choose herself first—and bloom on her own terms.
Painted in gratitude for a rare season of being truly seen, Sanctuary is a portrait of gentleness, honor, and quiet safety. A mountain cradles the valley like a steady companion—strong, soft, unshakable. This is what it feels like to be held without demand. To belong. To exhale.
There’s a moment—just before the sun crests the hills—when everything is still, and the world holds its breath. Dawn Beckons was born from that hush. A winding path cuts gently through the quiet terrain, inviting the viewer to remember what it feels like to be guided—not by urgency, but by soul.
This piece speaks to the quiet call we often ignore: the invitation to return to ourselves. To pause. To listen. To trust that the path back home might be softer, and more beautiful, than we imagined.
Painted in layered hues of rose, moss, and violet, this work captures more than a sunrise—it captures a beginning.
There are places that don’t just exist—they call to you. This quiet, sunlit shoreline was captured on a scorching summer day, painted from a photo I took when the world felt still and open. No footprints. No distractions. Just sky, sea, and sand—waiting for someone to notice.
Over 1,500 people have viewed this piece in the past year.
Maybe it’s calling to you now.
Maybe it always was.
Bring the calm home. Let this be your place to exhale.
Bold blues cascade like memory, layered with gold like hope that refuses to dim. This piece is for anyone who’s ever felt both longing and light at the same time. It holds contrast and shimmer, ache and beauty—an abstract landscape of emotion, aliveness, and the quiet kind of joy that comes from simply feeling it all.
She drifted through the fog, untethered, unclaimed—yet still afloat.
A portrait of presence without direction, memory without anchor.
Painted in a season of quiet ache, this piece is for anyone who's ever felt like a ghost in their own life… and longed to find the shore again.
I painted this at 54, after my sister Melba challenged me to paint from my heart, not just from technique. Up until then, I made "safe" art—pretty, pleasing, and quiet. This was the first time I allowed myself to get lost in the process. I didn’t know who it was for. I just knew I had to let it out. It went through many versions—pink trees, then purple. But eventually, I returned to my true color: blue. She wasn’t always like this. But becoming who she truly is didn’t make her soft. It made her sure. Giclee Prints available here.
I painted this on a day I almost gave up. The sky held my sorrow. The water carried it.
There are no figures in this painting, and yet—it held me like a friend. This piece is where I learned that peace isn’t the absence of pain. It’s the presence of something steady, even when I’m not. Seascape Print.
They say sunflowers are yellow.
But I wasn’t feeling yellow that day.
I was listening—softly—to a blue that kept showing up in my chest.
So I followed it. Not because it made sense,
but because it felt like the truest conversation I could have.
Blue Sunflower Prints
This one came through gently—like it already knew what it wanted to be. I just listened and let it lead. Day Dreaming prints available.
This painting went through many transformations before it settled into truth.
Most lavender fields are painted in straight, tidy rows. I tried that. But no matter what I did, it felt wrong—forced. I stepped away for weeks. Then one day, with no plan, I picked up my brush and felt something deeper take over. I moved the rows into soft, sweeping curves. And with that motion, my soul whispered yes.
Only after I finished the painting did I understand:
We want life to follow clear, straight lines—easy to track, easy to manage.
But the truth? The path will always bend.
Sometimes softly, sometimes suddenly.
And in that disruption—that’s where the mountain lives.
This piece reminds me to let the rows curve. To allow for the unknown. To trust the turn.
There was no plan. No brush. No scene to recreate.
I was bored—tired of landscapes, tired of structure, tired of myself, if I’m honest.
My art was going in circles.
So was my thinking.
So was my life.
So I let it show up that way—layered, tangled, restless.
All of it poured out in my favorite hues of blue.
This piece doesn’t ask to be understood.
It just wants to be felt.
Pathways to Peace
Oil on birch panel
Beautiful work.
Beautiful...all. No explaining, just being with. Thank you.