This painting began as a quiet ache—a way to reach across space, memory, and time.
To the One Who Waitsfeatures a horse in gentle motion, its gaze turned toward something unseen. Around it float sunflowers, phlox, bees, and fragments of stars. The ground is real, warm, growing—but the sky leans toward the mythic. There’s a softness here, a kind of courage wrapped in stillness.
Layered in the background are fragments of my own life: a clock, a postage stamp and postal mark from 1986, all part of an old envelope from my father. These personal symbols anchor the piece in the passing of time, in the messages we hold onto, even when we’re not sure who they’re still meant for.
But perhaps the truest inspiration came from the long years I spent waiting for my own son—who was lost to me for 19 years, and then returned. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done… to keep holding hope when nothing seemed to change. And now, miraculously, it’s as if no time passed at all. Wholeness returned like sunlight through a break in the clouds.
I believe someone out there is waiting too—and needs to know they’re not alone. That even long silence can be broken. That sometimes, the thing you thought was lost forever still finds its way back.
This piece is for you.
Whether you're the one waiting, or the one making your way home… there is a place for you here.
This painting began as a quiet ache—a way to reach across space, memory, and time.
To the One Who Waits features a horse in gentle motion, its gaze turned toward something unseen. Around it float sunflowers, phlox, bees, and fragments of stars. The ground is real, warm, growing—but the sky leans toward the mythic. There’s a softness here, a kind of courage wrapped in stillness.
Layered in the background are fragments of my own life: a clock, a postage stamp and postal mark from 1986, all part of an old envelope from my father. These personal symbols anchor the piece in the passing of time, in the messages we hold onto, even when we’re not sure who they’re still meant for.
But perhaps the truest inspiration came from the long years I spent waiting for my own son—who was lost to me for 19 years, and then returned. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done… to keep holding hope when nothing seemed to change. And now, miraculously, it’s as if no time passed at all. Wholeness returned like sunlight through a break in the clouds.
I believe someone out there is waiting too—and needs to know they’re not alone. That even long silence can be broken. That sometimes, the thing you thought was lost forever still finds its way back.
This piece is for you.
Whether you're the one waiting, or the one making your way home… there is a place for you here.