A history of making

From an early age, my hands were never idle. As the son of an engineer with access to a basement workshop capable of producing everything from throwing stars to rehabbed Jeep transmissions, I grew up disassembling, reassembling, and creating. While other kids abandoned their sketchbooks for textbooks, I found ways to merge the two—even passing algebra by designing pro-algebra propaganda posters.

My professional path followed the common route of artists looking to make a living, by going to school for graphic design. After graduating Flagler College with a B.A. in design and a minor in surfing, I spent 20+ years building award-winning advertising work or a wide range of clients. But despite the digital precision and control of pixels, I've always been drawn back to the unpredictable nature of physical creation. There's something both terrifying and liberating about working with paint instead of pixels—the lack of control, the permanence of each stroke, and most importantly the tangible result.

After decades of helping others take creative risks, I’ve taken my own by returning to my roots in fine art. This isn't a phase or a hobby—it's a necessary daily practice of making physical things with my hands. My work invites viewers to see the world as I do - where everyday objects like motors or pocket knives reveal their complex poetry. Or where the simplicity of vintage illustrations is reimagined and elevated beyond nostalgia into contemporary relevance. I create art that I want to live with, pieces that tell stories and connect to the past, when people made and repaired their own stuff in basements and garages.

Kick-starting my 1977 Harley that I rebuilt as a bobber. It won best Sportster at Willie’s Chopper Show (if you know you know).