Art tells a story and while I am a visual artist, I like to think that I am also a storyteller. As I evolve and grow as an artist and as a person, each of my collections is accompanied by a new narrative. 

 

My early works told a love story; the love between myself and the earth. I approached my panels with a desire to recreate the feeling of awe and wonder that I experience in the forest. It was a story of fascination, exploring shapes and light; a bending willow, a pine bough gently cradling the snow. 

 

Recently, my art has begun to tell a new story. The isolation of the pandemic has changed us all. It has required us to reexamine ourselves. In these quiet moments, I have turned inward and braved my own truth. It has become a time of personal transformation. I have mined my unconscious and begun to open the unpacked boxes of a childhood filled with trauma. Painting is a raw and vulnerable practice and my latest story is raw and vulnerable as well. It shows a soul stripped bare in order to heal. Trees are now personified. Their sculpture and undisguised winter forms expose the years of their journey and their resilience. Iceberg shapes and rocky outcrops symbolize the union of heart, mind and soul. An iceberg’s tip is visible to all but its complexity and strength lies beneath the surface. 

 

In this story, colour dominates the work set against flat black -- the fragmented pieces of a puzzle joined together in the dark, finally finding their place. This series, Boxes Left Unpacked, expresses suffering and strength, pain and grit, loss and integrity. Joy triumphs and finds expression in colour.

 

I am a storyteller. This is my story.