Before I ever picked up a brush to paint wildlife, I experienced it. My parents had a deep love for the outdoors, and much of my childhood was spent in the wilderness—camping, canoeing, exploring the quiet beauty of remote places. These trips weren’t just vacations; they were lessons, shaping the way I saw the world and, eventually, the way I painted it.
Out in nature, I learned patience. Sitting by the water’s edge, watching a heron stand motionless before striking, or observing deer move silently through the trees—all of these moments taught me the importance of detail, of understanding an animal’s movements and behaviors before trying to capture them in paint.

These experiences also instilled a deep respect for the wild. Being surrounded by nature made it clear how delicate it is—how easily disrupted, how vital its preservation is. That awareness later became a driving force in my artistic career.
My parents’ passion for the outdoors planted the seed, and my art has carried it forward. Every painting is a reflection of those early experiences—the quiet mornings on the lake, the rustling leaves as an animal passes unseen, the feeling of being immersed in something greater than oneself.

Without those childhood adventures, I wouldn’t paint the way I do today. Nature shaped my artistry long before my brush ever did.