Image 1 of 1
Image 1 of 1
Image 1 of 1
Image 1 of 1
Flowers are fascinating because they seem to exist in two worlds at once.
They're incredibly delicate, yet they survive wind, heat, insects, drought, and time. They bloom anyway.
This painting began as a study of a Rose of Sharon, but somewhere along the way it became something else. The petals started dissolving into movement, and the movement began to resemble fire. Not destruction, but transformation—as if the flower wasn't being consumed by the flames, but becoming them.
The more I worked, the less interested I became in painting a flower accurately. I wanted to paint what change feels like.
Life has a way of asking us to let go of older versions of ourselves. Sometimes that process is quiet. Sometimes it feels like burning. But I've come to believe that growth often looks chaotic while it's happening.
Like many of my paintings, this one isn't meant to provide answers. It's meant to create space for reflection.
I hope you see something different in it each time you return.
Flowers are fascinating because they seem to exist in two worlds at once.
They're incredibly delicate, yet they survive wind, heat, insects, drought, and time. They bloom anyway.
This painting began as a study of a Rose of Sharon, but somewhere along the way it became something else. The petals started dissolving into movement, and the movement began to resemble fire. Not destruction, but transformation—as if the flower wasn't being consumed by the flames, but becoming them.
The more I worked, the less interested I became in painting a flower accurately. I wanted to paint what change feels like.
Life has a way of asking us to let go of older versions of ourselves. Sometimes that process is quiet. Sometimes it feels like burning. But I've come to believe that growth often looks chaotic while it's happening.
Like many of my paintings, this one isn't meant to provide answers. It's meant to create space for reflection.
I hope you see something different in it each time you return.