Pain, a four letter word too soft to carry the weight each step brings. 24 x 24 in. Oil on Canvas

Judging mental illness creates hissing clouds weary of conversations. 10 x 7 in. Charcoal on Paper

Blood lingers in quiet passages. I hear it speaking the same rhythm of waves when eyes of the moon are full. 6 x 10 in. Charcoal on Paper

Its body is a dark shadow with bright yellowish orange firecracker eyes. 9 x 11 in. Charcoal on Paper

Some days I wonder how far I need to let go what I know to become who I am. waterbears sing in my shower. 9 x 11 in. Charcoal on Paper

We passed by a musician panhandling and she smiled for the first time saying "How courageous it is someone is outside playing on a day like today." 8 x 10 in. Charcoal on Paper

First step without crutches after 4 months and first surgery. 12 x 18 in. Oil on Canvas

When you find yourself on the ground, how do you get up again? 30 x 40 in. Oil on Paper

Lulling monsters to sleep, skid across frozen waves. 20 x 18 in. Oil on Panel

The more I walk the less I remember the plate in my foot. 8 x 14 in. Charcoal on Paper

18 x 24 in. Oil on Panel

Five screws, three incisions, two weeks, and one plate later, my foot is revealed with laced stitches. 30 x 40 in. Oil on Paper

64 x 86 in. Mixed media (Charcoal, Acrylic, Spray paint) on un-stretched Canvas

I try to listen past the porcupine quills of chronic pain. 24 x 24 in. Oil on Canvas

Muscles wrap themselves into clutching antlers, holding movements captive and spitting laughter into chokes. 30 x 40 in. Charcoal on Paper

112 x 136 in. Oil and Charcoal on un-stretched Canvas