Journal.
Writing from the studio — essays and criticism on the things the paintings are already about: money, mortality, power, and the work of facing the dark.
I Painted Myself a Family
I wake before six and go sit with a room full of friends who wear the faces of everything I am afraid of. On coffee and my great-grandmother, the family I am scared I will never start, and the smiling devil who greets me with his arms open.
Give Death a Hug Back
I came to death at fourteen, through books. Grief came later, with names. On the smile in my paintings, the grandfather who taught it to me, and why every canvas is built to outlive its painter.
Everyone Here Wants the Money
Money didn't corrupt painting — the lie about it did. On the art world's last taboo, the appetite that funds everything, and why death is the only honest accountant money has.
Just Another Brush
I'm not afraid of AI. I use it every day. It never touches the brush — and that line is the whole point.
The Demons Are Angels Too
My paintings kept making the scary thing show up smiling. So I wanted to give it a body — something you could stand in front of, or hold in your hand. On totems, talismans, and the oldest fear there is.