beautifully wrecked.
intentionally healed.
If you walked into my studio right now, you’d probably find a bit of a mess. I’m the kind of artist who likes to build things up just to tear them back down again. For me, a canvas isn’t finished until it’s been through a bit of a "wrecking" process—layers of paint, heavy textures, and a lot of honest-to-goodness excavation.
The Painted Surface: Making the Noise
My abstract work is where I process the big stuff—the energy, the intuition, and the internal "static" we all feel. I’m obsessed with the idea of Strata (the layers of our history) and Frequency (the signals that break through). I don't just paint a feeling; I dig for it. I want my pieces to feel like they’ve survived something—because usually, by the time they're on your wall, they have.
The Captured Moment: Finding the Quiet
When I need to clear my head, I head out with my camera. I call this part of my work "The Field." It’s the total opposite of my studio time. Instead of creating energy, I’m just observing it. I look for the "quiet stories" in the world around us—a tree root hugging a rock, the way a wheat field waits for a storm, or the silence of a foggy riverbed. I keep these shots in black and white because it strips away the distraction and gets right to the soul of the moment.
Why Roosloft?
Whether it’s a high-energy painting or a hushed photograph, my goal is always the same: to find the beauty in the things that remain. I’m a big believer that the most interesting stories aren't on the surface—they’re buried a few layers deep, just waiting for someone to notice them.
I’m so glad you’re here. Grab a coffee, take a look around, and I hope you find a story that speaks to you.
