For me, art is a form of inquiry. It’s a place to wrestle with physical materials and ask, “Who am I?” Or maybe, “Who do I want to be?” I came to painting after many years of writing fiction and teaching philosophy, both of which shaped my interest in creative work that involves uncertainty and risk.

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I rarely know where a painting is headed when I begin. If the outcome is predetermined, I tend to lose interest. When I’m immersed in making sense of the canvas, I become engaged. Intuition and accident point the way. Materials such as metal, wire, sand, wood, and rock may find their way into the work. A degree of chaos gradually settles into a semblance of order. Sometimes that order appears as organisms, landscapes, or architecture. Other times it may be movement and gravity themselves.

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I also work on parts of paintings, or entire paintings, plein air—letting light, color, wind, sand, trees, lakes, mountains, and birds indirectly influence the piece. Nature offers both abundance and constraint, forcing me to adapt and improvise. It’s a process. The painting and I dance together, negotiating the steps as we go.

 

Visual art emerged unexpectedly alongside my writing. Perhaps what surprised me most was how completely my mindset could shift. Painting offered a challenge and a new way to engage with the world. I did not know I was an artist until I was.