I paint the natural world into abstract landscapes and sculpted topographies, tracing the pulse of the Appalachian peaks and the quiet perimeters of the shore. I work with vivid colour and abundant texture to explore how a landscape is aged by time, reborn, or suddenly altered by the weight of flood, fire, or comet. On wooden panels, I use a mix of ink, paint, and enamel. In my Lakes of Slate series, I work more physically, mosaicking slate rock into mortar so the stone itself mimics the elevation of the land.

I left Montreal for a life in the Eastern Townships, settling out where the Appalachian Mountains start to fade back into the earth. I moved for the water—I wanted to live near a lake and swim so badly that I left the city behind to restart a rural life. Yet, here in the quiet, I am haunted by the dark. I am a swimmer who cannot cross the lake alone, even though I can swim the whole thing back and forth three times if there are kids on the beach. My fear is a heavy, ancient thing: it is the mystery moving beneath the surface of the water, and the unknowns shifting beneath the crust of the earth. This is what I paint—the feeling of being launched into the air, caught in a fleeting moment of free-floating before the collapse. It is the fear, yes, but also the awe and wonder of standing at the lip of the abyss.