I grew up just outside the Cleveland Metroparks, where I would disappear into the woods whenever life got too loud. There was one tree I returned to for years, through high school, college, and eventually moving back to Ohio during Covid. I watched it change through every season while somehow still remaining. After Lukas died, I left my career and committed to becoming a full-time artist. I found myself returning to trees again. Lessons from Trees became my first collection. Many of these canvases had already lived with me for years. There are entire paintings underneath the finished ones, along with failed attempts, words, intentions, and even traces of the dogs who have shared my life. Some were painted over again and again. Others were damaged, sanded through, patched, cut apart, resined and rebuilt. I didn't erase what had happened to them. I kept working with it. I never set out to paint literal trees. I started recognizing them in the work as it developed: rings forming in a pour, lines that branch and split, layers accumulating over older layers. Every painting in the collection is iridescent, shifting between deep greens, black and gold as the light changes and as you move around it. It reminds me of walking through the woods at golden hour, when light breaks through the trees and suddenly reveals all the tiny particles that had been floating there the entire time. Each painting became its own lesson: stay grounded and don't give up. Be so rooted in yourself that nothing can shake your foundation. Set yourself free by letting go. Reach for the light.