Beacons of light pierce darkness, glowing shapes soften it, and reflections fracture, shatter, play rebel games...

If you go, you know.

There’s a place I go in the summer...

I have a dream of being underwater, suspended in a miraculous liquid emerald, with flashing fish-like beings all around...

When you find yourself facing an unsparing field of flame.... There’s nothing but ruin if you turn back, and you don’t know how...

Some god of sky, lathered in almost-storm, stamps furious love notes on the cool meadow green.

There is a dogwood tree in my front yard
And every May it turns me into
The envy of my street...

Settled snow reminds me to look, many times, slowly. Snow is not white; it is sapphire and mint and butter and ivory...

From the Golden Ears Bridge over the Fraser River, the view a sparkling marker that your destination is near...

Does she know that you’re looking at her looking? Is it a private moment of self-reflection or a careful show?

This is what I saw on the river, when the water facets the afternoon light in all directions, a beautiful consolation for the coming end of the day.

The sweet beginnings of a story told in colour and line. Continuation of “Lips” series.

A reflection glimmers, half-formed, barely holding shape. Copper-gold like ancient treasure...

Across the glitter of water, a searing magenta skyline bears the press of honeyed clouds...

One day, the beautiful and blasé female I’d painted suggested she was not so serene after all. And that perhaps...

After the tramp down, down, down steep wood and dirt stairs, beneath the cool canopy of western rainforest, the trees...

Part Wild West frontier town, part fairytale stage set, all of it a temporary, wonderful alternate reality. For a few summer days...

Provoked or provoking…in either case, she wants to know, just what do you have to say for yourself?...

I knew early what would be required. I was not certain I would succeed...

A thousand persistent green-needle-cloaked branches attend our winter’s walk, humbled...

The sun sets, boats seem to come to rest. Almost-black paint renders charred edges...

Mists sculpt the ocean air, as if forming upon the lingering substance of spirits...

Midnight is when flowing dark whispers the little secrets of steady day...

He always talks of muscle memory…and I think of all that this dear form knows...

In dreams, everything is possible and nothing needs explaining. Of course the moon...

A defiant, joyous reveal casts warm shadows and bold contours...

An invitation near impossible, yet you, brave one, dare to believe...

To paint a figure is to try to capture; and I liked the idea that this woman was...

A velvet dark showcase for the jewel of body, the gentle colours revealed by a...

A setting sun streaks and glitters white-gold on ocean water, as silver-blue dusk...

The firm planes of a back and sweet contrast of a shy foot. A woman’s face angled...

Lost in the ease of the body, lost in the swell of a feeling, lost in an idea wandering...

Underpainting of azo gold is a brilliant stretch of sand coloured by the lazy warm light...

A private show in a remote theatre, the revelation of a display more magnificent for the dark...

White light flashes along the rippling lines of a dancer lost in motion, caught by music...

Her tattoo traces the flex of her spine, the structure that permits all our postures...

Purples – orchid, jam, violet, amethyst – pull with mystery. Continuation of “Lips” series...

The ease and the tension of lace and posture are your invitation, your possibility...

A complex interplay of qualities. I see strength in ribbons of ink around biceps and...

When you travel the rich topography of a human form, its shadows and its glow...

Photographs showed me the beauty of this place. Sighs and lost words in the story...