I am usually reluctant to overly explain my paintings, but this is a piece where context is everything. I won’t bury the lede: VOS 0.15 is the name of this painting and also the visual acuity of my left eye. Basically, it is the measurement doctors use to say, "He can’t see squat in his left eye." More specifically, I can make out fuzzy shapes, detect motion, and navigate floating spaces where things are slightly clearer. And I see it only in black and white. It has been like

I see my painting the same way I used to listen to music—specifically, punk rock and alternative music . In high school, I used to write lyrics—really bad lyrics—to find a place to put feelings that had nowhere else to go. I would find kids who had similar spirits, and we’d soothe ourselves with the chords in Joy Division and The Smiths, sneaking cigarettes wondering “How Soon Is Now?” and if “Love Will Tear Us Apart.” When I paint, I feel as if I am in a punk band. I mean no

The first reading at Mass this weekend was from the book of Kings. The familiar story of how God’s wisdom is heard not in destructive wind, mountain shattering earthquakes, or scorching fires. It’s in the deafening silence that follows. And when I recalled the two paired, colossal works at Phillips it dawned on me: The fire, wind and earthquakes of today are often the audio, visual and physiological demands on us all day and night. The news stories designed to divide, the so

I took advantage of my proximity to the wonderful Phillips Collection last Saturday. I went to see the work of regional artists who were entered into the juried exhibition this year. What I experienced was a profound reminder of the serendipity that happens when you create the right circumstances. I ran into a friendly staffer whom I used to chat with when she worked at a local art supply store. She is now employed at The Phillips Collection. After we swapped stories about ou

After some medical hiccups last week (and advice to limit screen time as my vestibular system recovers), my energy level dropped but passion doubled. I got so much studio work done. I tried new mark making techniques,built new colors, and attempted to accomplish something I’ve long dreaded: the self portrait. Gasp. I built a dark chromatic navy black from burnt senna, primary magenta, and Prussian blue. I used it for the ground for a few experiments with wiping: using silico

This painting (“Life Between” 36x48 inches, oil on canvas, 2026) was among the many ideas that began during my hiatus. As with nearly all of my projects, it evolved as it appeared and the canvas spoke back. I’ll save the physical process for another post but as I layered in the marks and called it finished I had a 12 hour crisis. Stupid, irrational, and disrespectful to the work, self-doubt and even fear bedeviled my spirit. Not my ever -present “imposter syndrome” and garde

During my break from both the grind of the everyday, and from the joyful creation I find in painting, it was my hope to recharge and restore. Looking back I’d say: done and done. The flow state was maintained, in terms of ideas, vision, and refinement of the art I’m pursuing. I tried keeping a sketchbook which was a big mess because my handwriting is so bad and my selection of writing too made it worse. However, l kept a draft of a version of this post open and filled it almo

Maybe it’s the fresh air or the rare time I took away from DC, but here’s an idea that I can’t shake. Channeling my passion for art into something “more” has already become an element of my patient advocacy portfolio. I love showing how art can be used to find joy and hope inside even the most broken bowls. But I want to turn that passion into a tangible force for good. I keep asking myself: Is there a project that can serve communities, bolster public spaces, and meet unmet

“… wabi-sabi is built for the quiet, G-rated decay of simple things—a weathered fence or a cracked teacup. If you try to apply that philosophy to absolute horror, like the literal image of a gas chamber or a slaughtered child, it fails. It either sanitizes the atrocity by treating it as 'natural weathering,' or it collapses into the grotesque mechanics of a snuff film. Wabi-sabi cannot grasp or digest that level of catastrophic brokenness.”

While I wish I everyday I could be painting, I am filling the time well. I have arrived at a great plan for a gift I’m planning to paint. I’ve done some research and soul seeking about a topic I will be exploring here soon, relating to artistic styles and western civilization (nothing heavy). I watched birds. I wonder do they ever fly for fun or always with a purpose? I was trying to hear them consciously and then seeing them cross the sky over and over I wondered where the

I don’t have much to say other than it’s nice to see these together. Not staged, it’s just by coincidence “Angry Management”(the stack of three boxed colors) was just unwrapped as some other recent work dried or waits for a new mhome or assignment. The totus over the formerly minimalist yellow on far left. Next to “Here” my #3 in the Mr. Jacobson series. The abstracted tree line mostly green, followed by the orange totus over blue sweeps. They all connect by obviously the sa

While it is hard to believe, I’m going to soon put the brush down for a bit. (And consider what the art calls our souls to do). A few days near the ocean I thought would be perfect to keep up the flow state I’ve been in since last November. I even consideredp putting an easel on a spot with a most serine view of a salt marsh to absorb the color, the life, the decay —, not to reproduce images but to feel life stock up on the things that change by the day. (I also thought abo

This was proof that Totus wasn’t a icon, a graphic, or an NPC. This mark is much more. It it’s an active participant, a sacrifice, a starting point. It is the literal foundation here; of an idea that began with an approximately 3x5’ unstreched canvas, to which I attached magnets and hooks to easily hang up the wet painting to speed drying once finished. After I laid it on two flat cardboard unbuilt boxes. I gessoed the surface one evening to allow overnight drying. The next

After spending more time at the national gallery yesterday (after meetings on nearby Capitol Hill) and its wonderful art, Totus tapped me on the shoulder with, if not ideas, urgently wishing collaborate with colors and forms to help me learn a few lessons. One painting became two and 10 more. That’s what my mind said. Idea after idea to learn from. First: Actually I began with this asymmetrical background of three wiped yellow forms, with black vertical markings dissolving

Mr. Jacobson — A new series about buried truth. This project started as something heavy on my heart: can I use abstract painting carry important stories? And how? So I just started. Started without a plan or knowing what would result. For this series, done in May and June of 2026, I’m breaking my own rule and sharing more of the “artist’s” insights that were behind the work than I normally prefer. I have a deep, longstanding affinity for the story and example of St. Joseph.

Predawn Shadows (on my bedroom wall)” — a piece I labored over for most of January of 2026. I wanted to capture the enigmatic light and shadows around 4am. They seemed like more than the different shades of darkness. Caught between consciousness and sleeping, between dreams and the landscape of my interior life. This begged to be put on canvas. Here are some process pic and my narrative about them below. Early layers buried light sources can be seen prior the additional darkn

This began as a way to experiment more with the pigmented oil and linseed. Trying to mix my own medium (a copy of old masters) to work on the floor, and wiping colors at different intervals to see what feels would come. I also attempted to remove and add simultaneously inside the upper band, applying a yellow gold heavy with solvent that pulled color as it added another. This I consider my first “big boy” piece. A complex chemical interaction that bore the emotional burden I

Here’s to another 250. I made this earlier this year attempting to use the variety of colors from the landscape of this magnificent country. Amber grain. Purple mountains. Red clay. White sand and snow. The stars are swirling acrylic titanium clouds over blue containing the hope for all of those fortunate enough to be citizens today. Yes we are a great people. But the land is too often overlooked. I for one should appreciate her more. Be safe and enjoy the freedom that many d

I’m not worthy of putting my stuff next to the images I last posted but.. ”Descent” I worked on for most of June of 2026. I have a very specific narrative that began with, but in the tradition of Abex, I am going to trust the viewer to find whatever story it conjures for them. I will share, however, how I went about the process. Not because I have anything to teach but because this is how I’m learning myself. Inspired after visiting newman’s “Stations of the cross” his zips

With no fine arts training or creative education to un-learn, my exploration of abex art has been pure joy. The best way for me to aspire for better and hear the reprimand of my own mistakes, How lucky am I that I live in a place that offers so many magnificent species of greatness? I can visit the various public collections of Rothkos around Washington DC and immerse myself in what he built. Same with Joan Mitchell, dekooning, Helen F., and parts of the ocean park series, a