Statement

I don’t make décor—I make detonations.

My paintings, murals, and assemblages are battlefields where oil, coffee, spray paint, and discarded ephemera collide. I mine language — lyrics, bible verses, dad jokes from my 12-year-old daughter—because words hold the power to both wound and heal. The surface is a palimpsest: carve, wipe, rebuild, repeat.

I am driven by questions of identity, shame, and resilience. As a veteran discharged under less-than-perfect circumstances, I understand mask-wearing: the smile you strap on to face the day. Art lets me rip that mask off and invite the viewer to do the same.

My goal is simple: show the beauty hiding in the ordinary — a chihuahua at a bus stop, a neon bodega sign flaring at 3 a.m., the quiet heroism of anyone who keeps showing up. If a piece provokes a laugh, a gasp, or a hard-earned silence, it has succeeded.

Ultimately, every mark is an act of advocacy: for mental-health visibility, for community, for my daughter Harper’s future. If you walk away seeing the world—and yourself—with a little more tenderness, then the work is complete.