Bluffside Echo came out of a bike ride I took near Horseshoe Bay. There’s a stretch where the water turns this surreal shade of turquoise, and the cliffs throw back layers of light and shadow. I kept stopping to look—not at anything specific, just at how the color moved. How the bluff, the sky, and the water seemed to fold into each other. In this piece, I used repeated pulls to create those layered bands—copper, teal, cobalt, soft gold. They’re meant to feel like echoes: waves hitting stone, wind brushing past cedar, the way your breath catches when you take in the view. The outer edges ripple and collapse into the base layer, like shoreline rock swallowed back by the lake. It’s not a loud piece, but it’s not quiet either. It’s a rhythm. A loop. Like something familiar you’re hearing for the second time.
