Egg tempera on panel, 31 x 38cm, February 2026
While sorting through fabric I open a box full of old shirts. There is a quilt, twenty years old, never finished, from shirts that once fitted over my father’s shoulders; the buttons he had fastened, carefully removed.
A painting begins with a selection of items, this time, a quilt piece. A jigsaw of shapes and patterns I choose to paint about the beauty of life & possibility, and things lost to time. It feels like bulbs emerging from winter pots. Here, now, waiting on spring.
The quote is from Vineland, by Thomas Pynchon, that I happened to be listening to as I assembled these objects.
Egg tempera on panel, 31 x 38cm, February 2026
While sorting through fabric I open a box full of old shirts. There is a quilt, twenty years old, never finished, from shirts that once fitted over my father’s shoulders; the buttons he had fastened, carefully removed.
A painting begins with a selection of items, this time, a quilt piece. A jigsaw of shapes and patterns I choose to paint about the beauty of life & possibility, and things lost to time. It feels like bulbs emerging from winter pots. Here, now, waiting on spring.
The quote is from Vineland, by Thomas Pynchon, that I happened to be listening to as I assembled these objects.
