I'm a self-taught painter based in Vermont, working primarily in acrylics and mixed media. I have a Master's in Clinical Psychology and spent years as a substance abuse counselor before pivoting to leadership coaching — and somewhere in the middle of a pandemic, I picked up a paint brush for the first time since I was twelve.

I started the way most people do when they're too stubborn to take a class: YouTube tutorials, blank canvases, a lot of paint I didn't know how to use. My first real attempt at something representational was a New Orleans oak tree — the sprawling, sideways-growing kind that crack through sidewalks and drape themselves in Spanish moss. I'd lived in New Orleans for over twenty years and those trees meant something to me. The painting took way longer than it should have and came out better than I had any right to expect. I've been hooked ever since.

My work tends to live at the intersection of the psychological and the absurd. I paint the dark days and the weird joy — the feelings that are too big for words and fit just right inside a painting. Sometimes that's a figure walking toward a light while shadows gather behind them. Sometimes it's a cat sitting in a flower pot with an expression of complete moral authority. Sometimes it's both, in the same show, hanging next to each other.

I'm a perfectionist, which is both an asset and a problem. Some of my favorite pieces are the ones where I forced myself to stop — to put the brush down and let the imperfection be part of it. I'm still learning that lesson.

A few things you should probably know: I hide things in my paintings. Cats, mostly. Sometimes a UFO. If you look closely enough, you'll find them.

Contact me with any questions or just to say hi.