In Looking to the Sea, I explore the feeling of standing between what supports us and what draws us forward. A solitary figure balances on a weathered tree, one hand resting against its broken trunk as he turns toward the open water. That contact interests me: the need to hold onto something while looking beyond it.
Pale watercolor washes give the sky, sea, and body a sense of openness, while darker pencil marks trace the contours of skin and wood. The upright figure echoes the tree’s shape, bringing the human body into conversation with a landscape marked by time and exposure.
His face is largely turned away, leaving his thoughts unresolved. I want the scene to hold the possibilities of longing, anticipation, and simple contentment—the private experience of looking outward and finding space to think.
In Looking to the Sea, I explore the feeling of standing between what supports us and what draws us forward. A solitary figure balances on a weathered tree, one hand resting against its broken trunk as he turns toward the open water. That contact interests me: the need to hold onto something while looking beyond it.
Pale watercolor washes give the sky, sea, and body a sense of openness, while darker pencil marks trace the contours of skin and wood. The upright figure echoes the tree’s shape, bringing the human body into conversation with a landscape marked by time and exposure.
His face is largely turned away, leaving his thoughts unresolved. I want the scene to hold the possibilities of longing, anticipation, and simple contentment—the private experience of looking outward and finding space to think.