Some paintings begin without a plan — just a need to put something down and see where it goes. Spacelight came out of that kind of restlessness. Two spheres, two squares, a void between them. The large one burns — all orange and gold, like a sun that's been carrying heat for a billion years. The small one drifts in its shadow, silver and quiet, catching just enough light to be seen. I wasn't thinking about the universe when I started. By the time I finished, I couldn't think about anything else. There's something in that distance between the two that feels deeply human — the longing to be closer to the warmth, the acceptance of being where you are. Oil on canvas, painted in 2015, and still one of those pieces I return to when I need to remember what it feels like to paint without a net.
