It’s dusk, and coyotes howl at passing sirens
oil on panel, 24 × 24 inches, 2023

Painted on a handmade floating panel (poplar cradle; baltic birch surface) with acrylic gesso grounds.

If you know where to look, mundane daily life and the world’s vast mystery are always colliding and fracturing into one another. On the busy boulevard where I live in Los Angeles, loud sirens are a regular part of my auditory landscape. At dawn, dusk, and during the nighttime packs of coyotes accompany the sirens and respond enthusiastically to the passing wails. The resulting chorus transports me from the curbstrip, where I’m picking up after my dog, to a harsh desert miles away or eons ago. 

At its best, painting from that kind of moment feels like wielding a magic knife. It feels like slicing into the world’s flesh to reveal a surprise under the surface — light where all signs indicated darkness, or a still-pulsing heart.

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