Long Version

Where It All Began

For me, drawing started early. My mom would always bring my drawing supplies when she took me to friends' houses. Sit and draw. Loved it. As I got into my teens, the real ignition was a summer editorial illustration class at Laguna Art Academy with Kelly Akins, a working illustrator who allowed this high school student into his college class. First taste of what a life in the arts could actually look like. Assignments, critiques, and realizing I was hanging with the adult talent.

Laguna is the land of the Sawdust Festival and the studio of Wyland, the marine muralist. These guys became my inspiration and living proof that an artist could build a whole world around their work. That experience led me to being accepted into Ringling School of Art and Design in Sarasota, Florida — yes, a long way from home. But it was where my fundamentals really grew. Serious work, tons of influences. From Sargent to illustrators like Guy Billout, it built a whole new vocabulary around form, value, and light.

What Drives Me

The creative spirit crossed over into way more than just drawing and painting. After college I moved to San Francisco, where over the last 20 years I worked professionally across many creative fields — animation, UX, illustration, commercial design. During my peak parenting years, the drive to draw and paint never went away, it was just slightly subdued. Now that my kids are older, it's back full force — same intensity and seriousness as those early years.

I work in multiple styles, and each one drives a certain subject and theme. Energetic surf art and wave paintings focused on the movement of color and texture of paint. Guerrilla street art and stencil work built on bold political messaging. And the natural world — painting and drawing the local Bay Area California landscapes I love.

The Message

Art matters. It always has.

I love the bold provocation of Shepard Fairey and Banksy — the way street art walks out of the gallery and into the world, touching culture where people actually live. The street is the new museum. But I equally love the quietness of a painting that exists simply because someone had to put it on canvas. It doesn't always need a statement. But when it makes you think — or better yet, builds resistance to bad ideas — that's something special.

We are drowning in marketing, imagery, and information overload. Now more than ever, art that is honest and conceptual cuts through in a way nothing else can.

Here's the thing about original art: it doesn't scale. Like the small restaurant with magical food that loses its soul the moment a corporation buys it — you can't mass produce the real thing. That's what makes it worth protecting.

So I paint because I love it. And I'm grateful for anyone it touches along the way.