Calling myself an “artist” was initially a pretty scary thing to do, sometimes I still feel tentative. Forty some years ago before the scores of paintings, recognitions, sales, workshops taught, and shows judged, there wasn’t much history to substantiate the right to call myself an artist.

I feel the “Artist” is an artist before the first brush meets the paper. It’s the way we look at and react to the world around us that makes us an artist. It’s feeling the necessity to make our marks to translate how we feel about the subject through our chosen medium. For me it began at an early age and has never ceased to captivate and enthrall.

Art is my passion and my reason for being. It has saved my life more times then I can count and when people ask me if I’m “still painting” I have to answer that I am still breathing. It is that important.

My paintings have gone from bad to worse to pretty good to dark to decorative to surfacy and on and on. They’re never enough for long. Some of the early work that I thought was decent at the time now makes me cringe. If you desire to reach a pinnicle of mastery to achieve happiness, you’ll never find it in this business of art. There is always better, more expressive, more technically adept, more beautiful, more interesting, more meaningful work to do.

Art is a journey without a destination. We will never “get there”. There is no one answer. But if you enjoy the journey, if you get lost in the process, if inspiration and beauty and meaning are what you’re after, then you are an artist even before you have begun.

The pages of this website are just one attempt to capture a portion of my journey.