There is something so intimate about painting another person. Each stroke of the brush represents a tactile part of the subject’s body. There’s a realization I have about that body’s structure, its markings and changes in color... the model is letting me see it and record it. Looking at an artist’s brushstrokes on a figure is like looking on that moment the artist saw it on the body. The painter is sharing a moment with the subject and the viewer at the same time. Or, the painter is sharing a moment with the viewer and the subject is unaware. Pointing out: “Do you see how that part of the hand becomes rough and dark from the sun? Do you see the blue in the shadow on her neck or the light that reflects up from her shirt?” I want to share that with the viewer in my own work. When I look at my paintings, I can almost remember making each stroke. Sometimes I see a moment in my own piece and realize I don’t remember putting that paint on the canvas at all. Then I get to see it, almost, for the first time. I realize how beautiful it looks. I want to incite the curiosity I feel when I look at Caravaggio, Botticelli, Lucien Freud or Singer-Sargent paintings. I want the viewer to find those moments when one brushstroke hits another and creates a space to be immersed in wonder.