About THE ARTISt

I grew up near mountains. When I was a kid, I would go hiking with my family. But unlike most kids who might explore the outdoors with a carefree zeal, I was fearful. I enjoyed nature. Loved it, even. But I was afraid. I don’t know why or where it came from. But I would have my backpack loaded with every kind of survival thing I could—just in case. I read books about outdoorsmen surviving on their wits alone. I wanted to be like that. To this day I don’t know why. 

Maybe I thought that if I knew enough that nothing bad would happen to me. And yet, each time a storm came I would perch myself on some swingset somewhere to meet it head-on so I could feel the rain and the goosebumps that followed every crack of thunder.

There is an inherent anxiety that comes with being in the wild. While it’s a place we evolved to survive, these days it can feel like we don’t belong there. Nature is beautiful, yes, but it is quite indifferent to us. Downright terrifying, sometimes. But it’s a siren’s song. We’re compelled to engage with it, time and time again. We venture deeper, we climb higher, testing the waters and ourselves to see how far we can go. It's within those wild, secret places that awe and wonder still exist—a secret reward awaiting the hero who seeks it out.

Maybe we’re all just trying to get back to the source when there was no ego, no neurotic nonsense we carry around. Nature gives us that obliteration, even in small doses. It strips everything away and leaves us saturated with a deep sense of meaning we can feel (even if we cannot put it into words). And for one small moment, perhaps we feel complete. 

That’s what painting landscapes means to me.