About this time last year, my career underwent a major creative shift. From selling small, pastel-colored paintings of horses and cattle on my website, to building a collection of oversized, dark, cosmic works for my first public exhibition in a gallery, my artistic approach to everything started changing.
I met Anne Raymond, a wise and wonderful painter in Manhattan, who advised me to make studio time as creative and focused as possible. Our conversation pushed me to dive deeper into a concept that could get me to stop worrying about what others would think about it. Surely there was something I could be painting that I would identify with beyond the surface level.
The more I thought about it, the more I felt compelled to paint the stars. As long as I was doing that, others’ criticism or apathy no longer mortified me. Some close friends have told me they straight up don’t like space. And I was like: “That’s fine. Whatevs.” And I kept painting space.
Since then, my work has evolved into an honest reflection of myself, echoing themes that I personally find significant, while aiming to awaken and empower the human spirit on an interpersonal level as well. I believe it's healthy to prompt ourselves from time to time to consider how small we are and how vast and beautiful the universe is, and to be grateful for the ability to pursue an understanding of it.
This idea influenced everything: the way I view my work, my community, and even myself, and how I process through ideas and feelings on a day-to-day basis. The line between art and life started to soften and blur, then it faded away altogether. The concept engrossed me, and in the midst of it all, I have encountered a freeing, authentic creativity like never before.