In Come This Way, I explore the invitation to share a place and an experience with someone. Two figures stand close together at the edge of a grassy waterside landscape, their bodies turned in different directions. The title gives their quiet movement a voice, suggesting a moment of discovery and the desire to bring another person along.
Broad watercolor washes open the scene into bands of green, blue, and earth tones, while finer marks describe the grasses nearest the figures. Their warm skin connects them visually to the rocks and shoreline, placing their nakedness within the everyday life of the landscape.
I am drawn to the small adventures through which intimacy grows: wandering together, finding a secluded spot, deciding where to go next. With their faces turned away, the figures leave the story open. What matters is the possibility of following—and the trust contained in that simple invitation.
In Come This Way, I explore the invitation to share a place and an experience with someone. Two figures stand close together at the edge of a grassy waterside landscape, their bodies turned in different directions. The title gives their quiet movement a voice, suggesting a moment of discovery and the desire to bring another person along.
Broad watercolor washes open the scene into bands of green, blue, and earth tones, while finer marks describe the grasses nearest the figures. Their warm skin connects them visually to the rocks and shoreline, placing their nakedness within the everyday life of the landscape.
I am drawn to the small adventures through which intimacy grows: wandering together, finding a secluded spot, deciding where to go next. With their faces turned away, the figures leave the story open. What matters is the possibility of following—and the trust contained in that simple invitation.