Painting Pretty

There was a time when my work leaned into the harshness of things. A few years back, I painted a series of underwater faces and figures that was very different from my current work. These paintings reflected some of the hard aspects of being human — powerlessness, vulnerability, my own grief. At that time, I needed to process some realities that weren’t pretty, and as an artist, this was my path through. There’s an important place for work that doesn’t turn away from what’s difficult, disturbing, and even ugly.

In more recent years, my work has shifted. It's become focused on beauty — light, water, nature, peace. Some might call it “pretty,” and maybe it is, but I hope not in a superficial way as I'm not trying to decorate or distract. Instead, I have a desire to hold onto something real and eternal in a fractured world.

I’ve realized that painting beauty is not about ignoring brokenness. It’s a way of responding to it, of saying: this isn’t all there is. There’s something greater, deeper, more whole. The world can be ugly, but painting what is beautiful can be a quiet act of resistance—one that insists on hope. I don't think everything is fine. Far from it, but I believe in the possibility of redemption.

I believe in a transcendent reality—something beyond what we see and experience here. I believe in a Love — with a capital ‘L’ —who embodies truth, beauty, and goodness. I want my work to reflect that. Not to sentimentalize or simplify, but to bear witness to what is still true and lasting.
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So yes, I "paint pretty" because I believe beauty points beyond itself, and because I need to remember that there is more. I need to remember that even in a world marked by suffering and loss, there remains a deeper story  — a story of restoration, of presence, of grace. When I paint something of beauty, I'm pointing toward that story. I’m trying to create work that invites others into it too — not to escape reality, but to see it more clearly in light of something greater.