On the car paintings: My dad always noticed cars; driving around California with him, he would point out vintage cars, radical colors, luxury cars, and strange alterations. We would test each other and try to guess the make and model of the cars we’d see. We had long and elaborate stories about cars. Despite all this, and with the exception of a black Sebring convertible that he loved, he drove the same mid size, economically priced Toyotas for most of his life. The cars were fiction and fantasy. They were endless narratives to spin out and riff off of. We dreamed in cars. And even once, very literally, I dreamt that god drove a Studebaker convertible (pale green) with the redeemed in the backseat waving like homecoming queens. When I lost both my parents to dementia and shifted from daughter to caretaker, making art kept me grounded. As my father lost his connection to the world and his ability to speak and move independently, I painted over vintage car ads cut from magazines. I made new worlds for the cars to drive through. I painted fantastical deserts and candy colored mountains for my cars. I like to think that my dad and I were maybe on the same roads; traveling across time and space and riding together on highways made of glitter and gold.

Commissions welcome. Send me the make and model of the car in your memories.