Mantle / Surface / Sky
24 × 36 × 1.5 Inches, Acrylic & Oil on Canvas - 2024
Beneath the water, weight.
A hush that remembers fire,
cool now,
but never still.
Mineral blues drift upward —
veins of fuchsia, pale coral,
traces of warmth rising through salt.
The sea does not forget the earth it carries.
Each tide returns what it has taken,
softened, rearranged, reborn as foam.
At the surface, light trembles —
white, then silver, then gone.
What was pressure becomes pulse.
What was buried becomes sky.
We are not the wave or the shore,
but the shimmer between them —
momentary, infinite,
always returning.
Collector Notes:
In Mantle / Surface / Sky, layers of acrylic and oil evoke the quiet motion of earth beneath water — pressure giving way to breath. Fuchsia and coral tones rise through strata of muted blue and grey, their luminosity softened by a film of white that recalls seafoam dissolving at the tide’s edge. The painting feels both aquatic and atmospheric: dense yet translucent, grounded yet ascending. Its surface bears the residue of time — scraped, glazed, and reformed — like shorelines reshaped by return. What begins in depth emerges toward light, suggesting that transformation is less an event than a rhythm: the continual rising and receding of what endures within us.
24 × 36 × 1.5 Inches, Acrylic & Oil on Canvas - 2024
Beneath the water, weight.
A hush that remembers fire,
cool now,
but never still.
Mineral blues drift upward —
veins of fuchsia, pale coral,
traces of warmth rising through salt.
The sea does not forget the earth it carries.
Each tide returns what it has taken,
softened, rearranged, reborn as foam.
At the surface, light trembles —
white, then silver, then gone.
What was pressure becomes pulse.
What was buried becomes sky.
We are not the wave or the shore,
but the shimmer between them —
momentary, infinite,
always returning.
Collector Notes:
In Mantle / Surface / Sky, layers of acrylic and oil evoke the quiet motion of earth beneath water — pressure giving way to breath. Fuchsia and coral tones rise through strata of muted blue and grey, their luminosity softened by a film of white that recalls seafoam dissolving at the tide’s edge. The painting feels both aquatic and atmospheric: dense yet translucent, grounded yet ascending. Its surface bears the residue of time — scraped, glazed, and reformed — like shorelines reshaped by return. What begins in depth emerges toward light, suggesting that transformation is less an event than a rhythm: the continual rising and receding of what endures within us.