I am a self-taught artist based in New England.

My paintings exist at the intersection of abstraction and expressionism, but what draws me there is something older than either term. It is the recognition that the world is not made of solid things. It is made of transformations — matter becoming energy, order tipping into chaos and back again, forms that are simultaneously delicate and brutal, sometimes within the same square inch of surface. I don't follow rules. I follow frequencies.

My practice moves through form, color, and the productive unpredictability of a process I deliberately refuse to fully control. I draw from music, from memory, from the specific chaos that arrives when you stop managing the canvas and start listening to it instead. I am not interested in telling you what to see. I am interested in creating the conditions for you to discover something you didn't know you were looking for — in the tension between two colors that shouldn't work together and do, in the place where a painting stops being an object and becomes something you feel before you can name it.

I believe abstraction is communication stripped to its most essential, most honest form — the signal that remains after language runs out. A painting that moves you before you understand it is not confusing. It is working exactly as it should. True art has no grammar.

And then there is music. Threaded through every decision I make, every pour, every mark that stays and every one I destroy. Not as background. Not as inspiration. As architecture — the hidden load-bearing structure beneath everything. My life's work is the bridge between hearing and seeing — the place where sound becomes color, rhythm becomes form, and two senses collapse into a single, undeniable language.

And yeah, I turn sound into art as well >>>.