My love of painting began before I ever held a brush. Once I had taken a college painting class, I quickly became immersed in the creative process — and my work began to sell in galleries,

 

Then a brain injury brought all that to a halt. I tried doing what I loved, even what was most familiar, yet there was some kind of disconnect between what my mind and hands were doing and what showed up in front of me. My best efforts at realism looked as though they had been painted with  fists full of mud.  

During a long period of healing, my creativity found a number of avenues. Still, I longed to hold a brush and watch a painted world appear from the end of it. I could no longer resist the inner call to begin again. What emerged was unexpected: a simpler way of seeing and a more direct connection between vision and creation. Today, images flow from my brush more instinctively and with greater emotional depth.