Many fine art websites are inspired by the white walls and bright lighting associated with galleries. This website bears a kinship to books, a visual journal of my life’s work to date. There is a dense concentration of imagery within the various categories, so I encourage second and third looks. Narrative, found in abundance here and on my blog, is integral to my art. Sometimes, the story is as important as the picture.
I’ve included images that have been sold (the portraits are not for sale, but are included as examples for commissions and editorial work); they reveal the path my work has taken, as well as where it might be going. Some of the landscape editions are limited, while others are open-ended. Although the paintings and collages are by definition one-of-a-kind, kindred imagery can, to an extent, be recreated upon request.
“I was given my first camera at the age of eight, just after my biological father’s funeral. It was from my Grandmother’s collection, a Brownie Box with flashbulbs (I still use it, although the bulbs are scarce). She handed it over with ceremony, a profound sharing of her passion, talent and intent. Viewing picture-making as a means of dealing with grief and healing was, in retrospect, an act of life-changing wisdom on her part. A painter and sculptor herself, she gave me intensive lessons in art and crafts; that exacting, formal, solemn woman was incredibly supportive of my creative spirit and because of that I was equally motivated.
Photographs arrive intuitively, from deep within a pool of collective wisdom, compassion, outrage, ecstasy, loss and desire. They are the key to the soul and to the city, so to speak. Making pictures takes just enough edge off the best and worst parts of life, enough to help interpret, navigate and decide to let go or hold on tight.
The name Heartstone comes from a lifelong attraction to heart-shaped rocks, the first of which was given to me by my bio-dad. I was three or four; he found a perfect specimen in the Colorado Rockies, wrapped it carefully and mailed it to me. It became a lifeline, a connective artifact I have held close. The package was sent without a note; the rock was message enough.”
