I didn’t start painting birds with the idea of symbols in mind. But over time, as more birds found their way onto paper, I began to notice patterns. Certain species showing up during certain chapters of my life. A resting

There’s a moment birds don’t talk about — at least, not in any way we can hear. It’s the moment right before they lift. When they’ve felt the wind shift, when something in them says go, and they pause for

There’s a heron I used to see almost every morning. It stood in the same shallow patch of water, always facing slightly to the left. It never looked rushed or restless, just still — completely still, like the act of

Every painting begins the same way: with a blank page, waiting. The silence of white paper can be intimidating, but it can also feel like an open sky—full of possibility, a space where something unseen might take shape if I

I started painting birds because I couldn’t quite explain something I was feeling — and they seemed to speak it for me. Reflecting on my motivation, I find there's something ancient about the way a bird moves, something that doesn’t ask