Forest series
Living in the Pacific Northwest, forests are not just landscape — they are architecture, sanctuary, and teacher.
In this series, I explore the emotional experience of being under the trees — the grounding presence of trunks, the rhythm of vertical lines, the way light weaves through branches.
Some paintings feel intimate and enclosed; others open into deeper passages of shadow and layered foliage.
Science confirms what we instinctively know: being among trees calms the nervous system, slows the breath, and restores clarity.
Forest is an invitation to step into that feeling — to bring the quiet strength of the woods into your space.
A soft hush settles as the forest moves into golden hour. Sunlight slips between the trunks and lays warm bands across moss and needles. Greens shift toward honey, bark takes on a copper tone, and distant shadows cool to blue. Edges catch a brief rim of light, making ordinary details feel closer and more immediate.
Thin beams break through the canopy, illuminating drifting dust and falling leaves; patches of gold appear on stone and water, then fade. The scene feels urgent—the light comes and goes quickly. Its beauty matters because it’s short-lived, calling for quiet, focused attention.
72” x 48” Acrylic, pastel on canvas, framed in local fir.
Walk in… trees arch overhead, their leaves filtering warm light onto mossy stones and a carpet of leaves. Soft shadows stretch across the trail, while distant greens and muted browns create a calm, contemplative atmosphere. The scene captures a peaceful walk—introspective, gentle, and grounded in the hush of nature.
72” x 36” Acrylic & pastel on canvas framed in a local fir
Dream
I remember a dream I had - the forest was washing me clean. That feeling when something weighs on you — everyday thoughts, small worries, or the noise of life — somehow disappears when I walk among the trees. The forest clears a path in my mind. It refreshes me, like opening a window inside my head.
I have always been drawn to those forest scenes where the trees lean over you, surrounding you completely. The air feels fuller there, fresher. The scent of the earth, the quiet, the movement of the branches — it all feels deeply soothing.
It is as if the forest gently resets something inside of us.
60” T x 97” W Acrylic & pastel on canvas
A windy shore under a broad, pale sky. Soft grays, faded blues, and light ochres set a quiet, reflective tone. Loose, textured brushstrokes hint at moving grasses and water; the low horizon makes the sky feel heavy. Diffused light through thin clouds creates a calm, solitary mood that invites slow contemplation.
48” x 48” Acrylic & pastel on canvas
Sunlight filters through a high canopy, scattering in warm, motes that hover like small, golden suspended moments. The path underfoot is soft with a years-deep carpet of needles and leaf mould, giving slightly beneath each step and leaving a dark, damp imprint that fades as you move on. Tree trunks rise in steady columns—some smooth, some furred with moss and scars—creating a rhythm of verticals that both frame and tunnel the view.
There is no urgency, only a gentle invitation to continue: to follow the path, to notice the small details, and to accept the gradual narrowing of the scene as both a literal vanishing point and a quiet promise of discovery beyond the visible.
A network of branching forms unfolds like a living map, tracing the quiet intelligence of growth as it reaches toward light. Color and movement intertwine, capturing that in-between state where structure loosens, intuition takes over, and life expands in all directions.
36” T x 72” W acrylic & pastel on canvas framed in local fir
A forest scene dissolves into feeling rather than place, where light filters through in fragments and the boundary between body and landscape blurs. The forms suggest both tree and figure, as if the land itself is remembering, softening into something intimate, quiet, and deeply rooted.
48×72 inches
Framed in a local fir
For me, this painting is about expansion. About letting things move beyond structure, beyond what feels contained or expected.
It’s a moment of that—held, but not restricted.
