There was a legend ruins hidden deep within the forests of Cambodia, ruins that had been left, forgotten to the ravages of decay and solitude. As I thought of this sad fate, I imagined that the moon had been watching over these haunted places for all those long, lonely years and had, perhaps, come to pity the souls trapped within their former abodes. The moon, mercifully, cast its light down upon them and freed them, allowing them to ascend to the heavens in the form of butterflies. As I grow older, I often find myself dwelling on the loneliness that stalks us when our connections to society begin to thin and fade, and I wonder, in those moments, if I would have the strength to endure being truly alone.

A re-imaging of “Forest Sound” in a larger presentation for Le Salon. The overall subject matter remains the same, a maple tree reigning as the queen of the forest and animals listening to the sounds of the woodland, but the larger size allowed me to bring more detail to the surroundings. I obliquely present the moon as a stronger presence through  dramatically emphasizing the moonlight.

Long ago, at Akashi Castle, I witnessed a flock of white birds slumbering peacefully in the arms of an old tree which grew at the edge of the castle’s moat. The birds appeared to me as blossoms floating gently in the tree’s embrace, each softly glowing against the darkened night sky. I have never witnessed a similar sight in all the years to follow; that image has remained with me, drifting up into my thoughts and dreams, as time passed by. Years later, I awoke one morning with the lingering impression of the dream I had while sleeping and I wound up painting that imagery. So, at last, the tree and the sleeping flock of birds found its way onto my canvas, merging memory from the past with images from my dreams and present by placing the tree and the flock before the skyline of the city I call home.

History is scattered with masterpieces depicting the sakura in bloom, and the beauty of her ephemeral blossoms remains a subject that inspires and captivates contemporary artists and art-lovers the world over. I wanted to pay homage to the sakura in bloom and paint this historical subject matter in such a way that it was uniquely my own. In my imagination there existed a small planet, covered in barren wilderness. The lone inhabitant of this world is a solitary sakura who, even in the full glory of blooming, sorrows; there’s nothing to ease her solitude, no one to admire the beauty of her blossoms. This sakura, in her loneliness, began speaking to the moon who crossed the darkened night sky. The moon, at first indifferent to her plight, soon began to feel pity and cast it’s light down upon her in effort to comfort her sorrow. Grasses immediately sprang forth wherever the light fell on the soil, their blades the same hue as the moon high above them, and from that night the sakura was no longer lonely.

When I worked on my 2018 painting “Aquatic Planet – To the Moon” for one of my exhibitions, I re-painted the Earth in place of the Moon.

Compared to three years ago, space travel is starting to become a reality. It may not be long before we can look at the earth from outside like this. I hope that it will still be a beautiful blue star.

In Bali it is a common sight for a decorative door to denote the threshold between public areas and the privacy of home. Thus the view through a half-opened door attracts the gaze and imagination as you wonder about the lives playing out beyond the public eye. It is like a portal into a different world with rules and mores all to its own. This is the last piece of a series that I titled “Opposite Side of the Door”. This piece is one of my personal favorites as I had great fun presenting a view into a wintery world, but worked the piece from a cat’s vantage as if the viewer is seeing through the feline’s eyes. This piece is now on display at a childcare facility.

The decorative doors in Bali are portals that mark the transition from the public landscape to the privacy of the family home – evocative and beautiful artworks of their own, they spark my imagination as to what lies beyond and what landscapes exist on the other side. In this piece I sought to capture a Japanese traditional landscape with a lake reflecting the moonlight. I hope the viewer can feel the contrast between the hot and humid tropical climate offered on one side of the doorway, and the cold and clear air of early winter just beyond the doorway.

I was honored to receive a commission from a customer who sought a painting to adorn the entrance hall of a family home that was over a century in age. The customer spoke at length about the atmosphere of this space, where a skylight in a vaulted ceiling allowed moonlight to illuminate the elegant entrance and infused it with a solemn atmosphere at night. These conversations inspired me to create a work featuring lotus flowers blooming in adoration of the moon’s pale light.

I purchased my first kimono in an antique shop, not long before the autumn tradition of viewing the full moon. The kimono was from the 1910’s and as it was presented in the store, it seemed as if the garment was a traditional floral pattern, yet once I tried it on, I was surprised that it also had elements of a Japanese geometric pattern. I wore this kimono to go view the full moon and as I gazed up into the moonlight, I couldn’t help but imagine the woman or women who may have worn this kimono before me. Maybe they once wore it while gazing up at a full moon, just as I did that night, linking us through the shared experience and same kimono.

The Japanese have a word, “Matsuyoi,” that means both the night of the 14th day of the eight month of the lunar calendar, and a night where one waits for someone who is supposed to come. A “Matsuyoi moon” is imbued with a sense of anticipation and wistful feelings, so I didn’t paint the moon itself, but only the brightened sky suggestive of its longed-for arrival.

This is a work from 2011. It is not by best work technically speaking, but it’s still one of my favorite paintings. There was a magnificent mimosa tree in a park a few blocks away. The last time I saw it, it was in full bloom, and its vivid yellow color was impressive even at night. I happened to see the classic car in a magazine and added it to this picture. It was then that I realized I had a strange habit of drawing unrelated things in a single picture. I wanted to paint the mimosa again, so I went to the park, but I just couldn’t find it, either because it had disappeared or I was wrong about where it was.

There was a legend ruins hidden deep within the forests of Cambodia, ruins that had been left, forgotten to the ravages of decay and solitude. As I thought of this sad fate, I imagined that the moon had been watching over these haunted places for all those long, lonely years and had, perhaps, come to pity the souls trapped within their former abodes. The moon, mercifully, cast its light down upon them and freed them, allowing them to ascend to the heavens in the form of butterflies. As I grow older, I often find myself dwelling on the loneliness that stalks us when our connections to society begin to thin and fade, and I wonder, in those moments, if I would have the strength to endure being truly alone.

A re-imaging of “Forest Sound” in a larger presentation for Le Salon. The overall subject matter remains the same, a maple tree reigning as the queen of the forest and animals listening to the sounds of the woodland, but the larger size allowed me to bring more detail to the surroundings. I obliquely present the moon as a stronger presence through  dramatically emphasizing the moonlight.

Long ago, at Akashi Castle, I witnessed a flock of white birds slumbering peacefully in the arms of an old tree which grew at the edge of the castle’s moat. The birds appeared to me as blossoms floating gently in the tree’s embrace, each softly glowing against the darkened night sky. I have never witnessed a similar sight in all the years to follow; that image has remained with me, drifting up into my thoughts and dreams, as time passed by. Years later, I awoke one morning with the lingering impression of the dream I had while sleeping and I wound up painting that imagery. So, at last, the tree and the sleeping flock of birds found its way onto my canvas, merging memory from the past with images from my dreams and present by placing the tree and the flock before the skyline of the city I call home.

History is scattered with masterpieces depicting the sakura in bloom, and the beauty of her ephemeral blossoms remains a subject that inspires and captivates contemporary artists and art-lovers the world over. I wanted to pay homage to the sakura in bloom and paint this historical subject matter in such a way that it was uniquely my own. In my imagination there existed a small planet, covered in barren wilderness. The lone inhabitant of this world is a solitary sakura who, even in the full glory of blooming, sorrows; there’s nothing to ease her solitude, no one to admire the beauty of her blossoms. This sakura, in her loneliness, began speaking to the moon who crossed the darkened night sky. The moon, at first indifferent to her plight, soon began to feel pity and cast it’s light down upon her in effort to comfort her sorrow. Grasses immediately sprang forth wherever the light fell on the soil, their blades the same hue as the moon high above them, and from that night the sakura was no longer lonely.

When I worked on my 2018 painting “Aquatic Planet – To the Moon” for one of my exhibitions, I re-painted the Earth in place of the Moon.

Compared to three years ago, space travel is starting to become a reality. It may not be long before we can look at the earth from outside like this. I hope that it will still be a beautiful blue star.

In Bali it is a common sight for a decorative door to denote the threshold between public areas and the privacy of home. Thus the view through a half-opened door attracts the gaze and imagination as you wonder about the lives playing out beyond the public eye. It is like a portal into a different world with rules and mores all to its own. This is the last piece of a series that I titled “Opposite Side of the Door”. This piece is one of my personal favorites as I had great fun presenting a view into a wintery world, but worked the piece from a cat’s vantage as if the viewer is seeing through the feline’s eyes. This piece is now on display at a childcare facility.

The decorative doors in Bali are portals that mark the transition from the public landscape to the privacy of the family home – evocative and beautiful artworks of their own, they spark my imagination as to what lies beyond and what landscapes exist on the other side. In this piece I sought to capture a Japanese traditional landscape with a lake reflecting the moonlight. I hope the viewer can feel the contrast between the hot and humid tropical climate offered on one side of the doorway, and the cold and clear air of early winter just beyond the doorway.

I was honored to receive a commission from a customer who sought a painting to adorn the entrance hall of a family home that was over a century in age. The customer spoke at length about the atmosphere of this space, where a skylight in a vaulted ceiling allowed moonlight to illuminate the elegant entrance and infused it with a solemn atmosphere at night. These conversations inspired me to create a work featuring lotus flowers blooming in adoration of the moon’s pale light.

I purchased my first kimono in an antique shop, not long before the autumn tradition of viewing the full moon. The kimono was from the 1910’s and as it was presented in the store, it seemed as if the garment was a traditional floral pattern, yet once I tried it on, I was surprised that it also had elements of a Japanese geometric pattern. I wore this kimono to go view the full moon and as I gazed up into the moonlight, I couldn’t help but imagine the woman or women who may have worn this kimono before me. Maybe they once wore it while gazing up at a full moon, just as I did that night, linking us through the shared experience and same kimono.

The Japanese have a word, “Matsuyoi,” that means both the night of the 14th day of the eight month of the lunar calendar, and a night where one waits for someone who is supposed to come. A “Matsuyoi moon” is imbued with a sense of anticipation and wistful feelings, so I didn’t paint the moon itself, but only the brightened sky suggestive of its longed-for arrival.

This is a work from 2011. It is not by best work technically speaking, but it’s still one of my favorite paintings. There was a magnificent mimosa tree in a park a few blocks away. The last time I saw it, it was in full bloom, and its vivid yellow color was impressive even at night. I happened to see the classic car in a magazine and added it to this picture. It was then that I realized I had a strange habit of drawing unrelated things in a single picture. I wanted to paint the mimosa again, so I went to the park, but I just couldn’t find it, either because it had disappeared or I was wrong about where it was.