I once asked an old friend, a sculptor who has known me since graduate school, "Why do I paint?" He thought for a moment and said, "Because it's handy." We both laughed at the simple truth of that and then I asked the question again. Why else? The answers were no longer simple. What is it about the landscape that keeps me coming back to what feels like an eternal quest? A committment with no end in sight. Why do tears come to my eyes when I recognize beauty? Why am I compelled to render the world around me in this imperfect way when photography and video can do so with precision and clarity? What does it all mean both personally and universally? Do I paint because the questions are endlessly compelling? Is it as simple as attempting to capture the visual grandeur of sky, tree, river, ocean? The meaning of such things always seems just beyond my reach. Perhaps the next painting will bring me closer to understanding.

I constantly feel that I am only scratching the surface. It is both humbling and thrilling.