My mother reports that when I was young, if she told me something, I would say, “I know.” And apparently I did. Now, I wonder about things and don’t know, because the things that interest me aren’t that easily knowable. I talk about devotion to the unknown; though more accurately, it is devotion to the unknowable. The unknowable informs how I paint. It was pointed out to me by my teacher and mentor, Chögyam Trungpa, Rinpoche, artist and buddhist meditation master. Probably what is most interesting about the unknowable is that it is recognizable.

When I was first getting to know Mountain Water, 240 acres of savannah and piñon-juniper hills, I would take a chair out into the middle of a view and sit watching. Watching nothing, because it wasn’t really about seeing the place, it was closer to feeling it. I do the same thing in the studio when I sit and look at a painting. I’m actually reading some other pulse that I can’t define. And I discovered I also do the same when I teach painting: that is, make contact—unknowable to unknowable—and try to discern in the other’s painting what is most authentic and point that out. That way, painters can learn to recognize their own voice coming through.

I am a contemplative, a painter, and an educator. I teach painting at Naropa University in Boulder, Colorado. I also teach independently a series of classes called The Painter’s Education. My paintings are represented by B. Deemer Gallery, Louisville, Kentucky.