Creative reflections on an artist's life, place, and the joy in between

In 2016, I visited the Borghese Gallery in Rome, and found myself face-to-face with a moment carved in marble — Gian Lorenzo Bernini’s Abduction of Proserpina. It’s a sculpture that’s nearly impossible to look away from. The emotional tension. The spiraling motion. The way Pluto’s hands appear to sink into flesh, even though it’s stone.

One detail captured me: Proserpina’s face, frozen in resistance and grace, framed against the decadent backdrop of the gallery. I took a photo — not just as a reference, but as a spark that stayed with me long after I left Italy.

From Marble to Paint

I am now working through this painting as a personal homage to that encounter. I wasn’t interested in copying Bernini. Instead, I wanted to translate the feeling of that moment. The resistance. The defiance. The divine sadness.

Working with oil paint, this detail shot captures a point where emotion began to emerge — her gaze, slightly turned, a glint of light under the brow, softness meeting severity.

Why This Piece Matters to Me

This work marks a turning point in how I’m thinking about my art. I’ve been questioning how much story and structure I want to include in each painting. With this one, the tension between the old and new, between reference and invention, felt like the right space to explore.

It’s also part of a broader shift. I’m committing to deeper deliberate practice — studying tonal range, brushwork, and emotional depth in every piece I make. This painting is just one step, but it’s a meaningful one.

The Ongoing Dialogue

I often think about how we inherit inspiration. Bernini interpreted Ovid. I’m interpreting Bernini. Maybe someone will someday interpret my work, too. Art isn’t static — it’s a conversation across time.

The Denver Art Museum is wrapping up a printmaking exhibit from Rembrandt. I’ve seen the show twice now, and it is truly inspirational to me. My appreciation for Rembrandt only grows, as time goes by, with his understanding of light and shadow, precise mark-making, and relentless study of art in general.

I don’t make New Year’s resolutions, but I am trying to be thoughtful about how I want to apply myself, moving forward. One thing the exhibit so plainly demonstrated to me was the diligence and discipline required to create the type of work I want to produce. The artist’s attention to detail and his commitment to learning are concepts I will refer back to when I need to find motivation this year, and beyond.

Time to get to work.

"The Three Trees"
Etching
Rembrandt van Rijn

Last week, I had a commitment to attend a four-day event in downtown Denver, not too far from my studio. Instead of driving, I decided to walk to and from the venue. More and more, I appreciate walks, as they slow my hurried world down and I'm able to see more of the nuances of what's happening around me. As I walked through my neighborhood each day, I noticed new things everywhere: graffiti, venues, construction, buildings, more construction. Denver is booming and there seems to be a new building going up on every block!

The walks were an adventure of new discoveries and compositional possibilities.

As much as it reconnected me to my neighborhood, it also reminded me that sometimes in both life and art, it helps to slow down, observe and reignite the excitement of possibility.

When I was a kid, there were a variety of creative activities I did outside of drawing and painting, from putting puzzles together to building models. Over time, I realized I had a tendency to want to cut right to the best part of those activities. In puzzles, for example, I only wanted to put together the pieces that were the most visually interesting - the eye of the dinosaur, or the super hero at the center of attention - while neglecting other areas of the scene, such as the buildings or background that just weren't interesting to me. When I built models, I wanted to see how fast I could put them together, testing my patience when the time it took for the glue to dry couldn't keep up with my ability to fit the plastic parts together. I didn't appreciate the sequence of events or the ritual of activities necessary to start off right in the first place.

In a word, I’m impatient.

Recently, I realized I took a similar approach to painting. This could be okay if I approached my work in a more improvisational style, but it doesn't necessarily serve me very well in trying to construct paintings through the layered, deliberate approach I've developed over the years. Through practice and mindfulness, I’ve learned how to enjoy every aspect of the process, from setting up the paint to cleaning the brushes. I think finding the joy in every part is largely because even seemingly minor parts support the bigger ones, augmenting the whole.

From November 2016 through January 2018, I worked my way through a portfolio of mostly drawings, with several paintings completed in the latter half of the series. In the end, this has been the most worthwhile activity I have ever pursued as an artist.

I am nearing completion on three paintings. The work is significant to me, as it marks a shift in the way I approach my work. Instead of perceiving objects and things, my focus has shifted to the abstract relationships of values within the painting, enabling me to see more harmonious relationships that bind all elements of the painting together.

Furthermore, I have developed a better shape vocabulary with a greater understanding of the nuances of shape contour.  

With a better vision of the work, and clearer intention, I am able to work more quickly than ever before. More importantly, it opens doors for the future of my work to go beyond traditional figurative painting.