"I never saw these forms in my mind before painting them. They appeared the way certain thoughts do—when you’re not thinking, but something underneath is. I paint to record that underside of perception, the place where meaning hasn’t yet been separated from sensation."

The Surge

before the names—
there was only color.
a muscle twisting inside light,
a burst of red too young to mean violence,
blue tangled in the first idea of breath.

something wanted to be born
but didn’t know
it was already alive.

The Drift

I began to float backward
through the skin of myself.
the distance grew language,
and language built walls
around what I couldn’t feel directly anymore.

memory
became the new weather.
silence curled at the corners.

The Incision

a line drew itself through the mist—
not straight, not kind, but true.

bloodlike dots
marked the crossing
between knowing
and the need to know.