I was born an artist but in true rebellion, it took me 36 years to finally say yes to pursuing it.

I’ve created so many wonderful pieces over the years. Portraits, cartoons, and still do a plethora of art events but I always return to Floral Fauvism again and again because they feel like a quiet doorway back to the Garden—an echo of everything that should have been but because of rebellion, is only but a dream to us. The soft geometry of a bloom, the whimsical way flowers dance with abandon, I’m not just capturing a flower; I’m reaching for the memory of an untouched world.

There’s something about the anticipated vibrance, the translucence that lets the light lead, the fragility over time, that whispers of Eden—of a place where nothing was hidden, nothing was rushed, and beauty wasn’t something to be earned, but something simply given. Painting florals allows me to rest in that remembrance. Each stroke feels like a return to innocence, to the first language of creation, where color, form, and breath are enough.

Florals remind me that restoration is possible. That even after seasons of loss, abandonment, or upheaval, life has a way of unfolding again—softly, insistently, defiantly. They anchor me in the belief that the original design of the world was harmony, not harshness; beauty, not brutality. In that way, every bloom I paint is a small act of rebellion against everything that tries to harden the heart and a coming back to who I was supposed to be in my Creator’s perfect plan.

When I paint flowers, I’m not recreating Eden, our sin sick minds can’t possibly fathom the goodness and glory of such a place— but I’m remembering it as I hope it to be. I’m positioning my mind back to perfect peace and giving my audience a glimpse of walking with Him and talking with Him and the joy you can share as you tarry there.