I love that description. It really resonates with me. I think of my work as painting internal landscapes. While there are elements of 'realistic landscapes,' they aren't meant to be specific places. They are more like anchors for a feeling or a memory.

The more abstract forms—the 'liquid geometry' and 'ambient psychedelia'—are my attempts to give shape to the formless. How do you paint a memory, a fleeting thought, or the feeling of a dream slowly fading? These shapes are my vocabulary for those experiences. The geometry represents the logic we try to impose on our feelings, while the psychedelic elements capture their chaotic, unpredictable, and often beautiful nature.

So, to answer your question, while the work isn't fully abstract because it’s rooted in real human experience, it’s not communicating a single narrative. It’s trying to communicate the feeling of consciousness itself—the way our minds constantly blend the concrete and the ephemeral.

I see my creative identity as a kind of tapestry, and my collaborations have provided the most essential threads. Jake and Stephen wove in the foundational threads of trust, philosophy, and unwavering support, which gave the entire piece its strength and structure. I’m still learning from the pattern they helped me start.

Working on 'Paradigm' with Brian Scott Hampton and Peter Westermann was like being handed vibrant, unexpected new colors. They brought different techniques and perspectives that, when woven with my own, revealed new patterns in my work I hadn't seen before. They showed me how my vision could harmonize with others, and in doing so, clarified what was uniquely mine.

Ultimately, they all taught me that a creative identity isn't something you find alone in a vacuum; it’s something you build, strengthen, and beautify in the company of those you trust.

What I hope for most is a feeling of deep, personal resonance. In person, without the glow of a screen or the distraction of a feed, the painting can be a very intimate space. You can see the hand of the artist, the layers of thought, the imperfections that make it human.

The single thing I want them to carry away is the memory of a feeling they couldn't quite name until they saw it visualized. Whether it’s a sense of peaceful melancholy, chaotic joy, or nostalgic longing, I hope the painting acts as a mirror to a part of their own internal landscape. My ultimate hope is that they feel seen by the work, and that the piece offers them a moment of quiet connection with themselves.