It all started when…

I was a boy as father left. I spent years alone. My hands were full of questions, empty of a compass. A great deal of time had gone by before someone pointed me north. And time demanded humility to admit that I was lost.

I soaked pigments into fabric because I was on a lonely trail. The canvas was my friend through the lost years. As the colours bled, so did I. What looked like a map emerged from the pages. I discovered that painting could walk me through the journey like an atlas would.