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We are intrinsically connected to the landscape on an elemental level. The carbon in a leaf, in our DNA, and in an ancient star is the same. This shared origin is most deeply felt through direct experience with the natural world—light and air, shadow and texture, color and scent—all of which shape us in ways we often overlook. This connection drives much of my work.
Beauty in the landscape isn’t limited to grand vistas or idyllic scenes. It can also be found in the scars left by conflict and contamination. These marks, while often harsh, carry the promise of renewal.
A painting might begin with imagery of splendor, or decay, or both—creating a tension, a paradox to explore. Despite the source, I hope the work offers a sense of restoration to the viewer, just as the process of creating it does for me. Each painting recalls a place and a story.
I use any material that can be applied to a surface, though my primary medium is acrylic. Like both a builder and an archaeologist, I layer images that speak to an idea, then deconstruct them through scraping, sanding, and solvents. Hidden layers emerge, while glazes unify and allow light to emit from the painting.
As the daughter of a coal miner, I’ve often focused on the coal fields of central Pennsylvania—abandoned mines, acid drainage, and mountaintop removal. I’ve also turned to melting ice caps, fire-ravaged forests, and storm-battered towns, searching for signs of renewal amid destruction.
Nature’s enduring grandeur, even in ruin, teeters on the edge. That awareness is embedded in every beginning.
