There’s a quiet moment between life and eternity — a threshold so gentle that even death feels like rest. That’s where this painting began for me. Inspired by the closing stanza of Bach’s Cantata BWV 56, and later reflected in Carlo Rovelli’s The Order of Time, I wanted to paint that suspended instant — where the soul loosens from the body, not in fear, but in understanding. The figure drifts through a current of gold and blue — colors that carry both surrender and illumination. Her face tilts upward, as if listening to something beyond measure — perhaps the rhythm of time itself slowing, perhaps Bach’s tender refrain whispering, “Come, O Death… Sister of Sleep.” Around her, orbs revolve — planets, memories, small universes of their own. Each one holds matter and light, just as every life does — dense with meaning, spinning through the invisible gravity of love and loss. The silver lines crossing the canvas remind me of the geometry of time — how moments intersect and separate, how even endings are only transitions into new forms of being. This painting is dedicated to my brother, whose courage and grace taught me that love never ceases — it only changes form. In Sister of Sleep, I wasn’t painting an ending. I was painting continuity — the soft, eternal breath between now and forever. For the collector, living with this piece is like holding that moment between song and silence — a golden meditation on what it means to let go, and to awaken again, in another kind of light. For those who have loved deeply, “Sister of Sleep” becomes not just a painting, but a companion in remembrance — luminous, tender, and eternal.
Have you ever had a moment in life when everything felt dim, as if something was blocking your light? That’s where this painting began — in that space between shadow and discovery. I was thinking of the morning I stopped in the middle of a road in Ghana in 2013, looking up through protective glasses to witness a rare partial solar eclipse. Eighty-one percent of the sun darkened. The heat, the hush… it felt as if the universe paused, asking me to look deeper. That’s why I named this piece Peeking Through an Eclipse. The golden sphere holds warmth and possibility. The darker one is the uncertainty we all meet — when something we love or dream of is temporarily covered. Around them, flowers spill in every direction. That’s life continuing to bloom, turning shadows into green. It grows quietly, like new beginnings. Below, light opens into water — a place of reflection. I finished this piece in early April 2024… unaware that the largest solar eclipse of the year would occur just weeks later. Millions paused to look up- and somehow, so did this painting. It can hang vertically or horizontally, because perspective changes everything. Rotate it, and the story shifts. Just like us. So when you stand before it, remember: darkness is temporary. Your light is never gone. Sometimes it’s simply waiting behind the shadow. And should this original painting resonate with you, trust its timing. Moments like eclipses — and opportunities like this — are brief. When alignment appears, you honor it… and in its proveaance, your name will mark the moment its story began.
One morning, I slipped into a quiet meditation. When I opened my eyes, I picked up a brush and began painting a field of scattered celestial orbs. I was daydreaming of Vincent Van Gogh’s Starry Night—his ability to translate profound emotion into a language the whole world can feel. Then I fell into a trance… remembering the tragedy in Lahaina. At the center of this canvas rests the island of Maui, held gently by the heavens, witnessed by stars that shine on all of us. Along the bottom lies a field of delicate white luminous blooms . They feel like souls to me… each one a life honored… a symbol of renewal blooming where the world once felt still. Across the horizon, I painted a veil of blues and violets. Behind them are shadowed forms— shaped by centuries of ancient culture. And on the right, the great swirling yellow moon becomes the heartbeat of the piece. It radiates warmth—balancing the cool blues that feels alive. In Hawaiian thought, light is remembrance and guidance. Light is ancestral. It is how we find our way forward. May this view hold Lahaina gently, the bloom after the burn, the peace after the storm, the beauty forged in unthinkable moments. and may every blossom remind us that from quiet ground….color returns… and the human spirit always finds its way back to light again. During the past two years I produced four major fundraisers for Lahaina, supporting organizations and individuals affected by the fires, so this work carries deep personal intention. And if this painting finds a place in your heart, it will continue its quiet work—supporting Maui’s art community and helping creativity, culture, and the artists who carry them to rise again.
Have you ever stood before water and felt your entire body settle? That quiet, grounding energy is where this painting, titled Flow of Serenity, began. I didn’t want to paint serenity. I wanted to paint the experience of arriving to it. The vertical column at the center was inspired by a waterfall — movement suspended in perfect stillness. In physics, water always seeks equilibrium. It adapts to everything it touches, and yet it has the power to carve stone. I wanted to paint that kind of strength — persistent and transformative. Behind it, the warm glow is like sunlight diffused through morning mist. I enjoyed the long conversation between my heart and my mind while creating the balance of warm peach and cool turquoise. The gold sphere has its own story. It began as a melting compass... inspired by Salvador Dalí’s Melting Clocks. But unfortunately, my melting compass didn’t look quite right, so instead of correcting it, I painted over it and textured it with gold, allowing intuition to stop me from looking outward for guidance… and turn inward instead. That’s when the painting always takes its own form. Below, the field of flowers represents the small joys we tend to take for granted. Up close, there’s movement and complexity; from a distance, there's harmony. The original 40x60-inch canvas was acquired instantly at a pop-up exhibition in an upscale coffee gallery. A collector walked in, looked up, and simply said, “I’ll take it — regardless of the price.” It became one of the fastest acquisitions of my career at twelve thousand dollars. What you’re seeing here is an enhanced, limited-edition giclée — hand-touched by me, ensuring subtle variations. Only a very small number exist globally, and each carries the provenance of a sold original already in private collection. Collectors often tell me they breathe differently in front of this painting — slower, deeper, more present. If this piece resonates with you, it becomes more than art. It becomes a quiet compass… a daily point of alignment… and a rare opportunity to live with serenity as a tangible, luminous presence in your space.
Have you ever looked at our world and thought… maybe there’s another one just beside it—connected somehow, but we can’t quite see it? This floral planet reminds me of Earth… or maybe the heart itself… bursting with color. Every bloom here feels like a little piece of life: love, joy, memory, and even loss. Then there’s the blue celestial body—quiet, calm, almost otherworldly. A pure blue orb of potential, still untouched. I imagined it as a parallel universe, or maybe the soul of this one. The two are tied together by a single silver thread—so thin you could almost miss it. But it’s there… bridging the visible and the invisible. It actually took me a while to paint this, to find that balance between movement and stillness. And if you look closely near the bottom, you’ll see a small figure—lassoing the two worlds together. I didn’t plan it; it just appeared… as these things often do in my paintings… almost like it wanted to remind me that we’re all connected, even across the vastness and perhaps across many more universes we don’t see. So when you stand in front of this painting titled Parallel Universes, take a moment to ask yourself— Which world feels like yours today? Which world are you reaching for? …and most of all—how gently will you hold the thread that binds them?
Have you ever wondered where your thoughts go when you stop thinking? I often do. Do they disappear, or do they drift somewhere—waiting to return as inspiration? This painting grew out of that question. It’s like looking inside the mind when it’s quiet, when ideas, memories, and emotions float freely and find their own rhythm. The blues are the color of reflection, of calm waters where imagination lives and breathes. Then there’s green—the color that always feels alive to me. It’s where a random thought starts to take root, where chaos begins to find purpose. Green reminds me that even in the messiness of thinking, something new is always growing. Touches of gold glimmer like flashes of clarity—those rare, shining moments when everything suddenly makes sense, if only for a second. “Random Thoughts, Random Notes” is about that quiet space between silence and sound, between confusion and understanding. It’s a reminder that every wandering thought belongs to something greater.
Have you ever witnessed beauty that feels as though it’s carrying a powerful story beneath the surface? That’s what I hoped to capture in this portrait of Areana Tseu, former Miss Hawaiʻi USA and Miss Hawaiʻi Philippines — a woman whose presence reflects elegance and grace that cannot be staged. Inspired by a photograph taken in front of ʻIolani Palace, this painting titled "Born of Beauty and Strength" echoes the dignity of Hawaiʻi’s royal past, paired with the confidence of a new generation. There’s a timelessness in her posture — a poise that feels both graceful and grounded. She is adorned in peacock feathers, a symbol recognized across cultures for renewal, royalty, and divine beauty. I painted this piece to celebrate heritage not as something held behind us, but as something we learn from — and sealed by those who inspire us, like her mother, Kumu Hula Iwalani Tseu, whose courage and resilience becomes part of her daughter’s light. Iwalani is a beloved cultural icon — a bearer of tradition and a dear friend I have known for over thirty-five years. And as you stand here with this painting now, notice how it meets you — not demanding attention, but offering an invitation to breathe, to reflect, and to remember your own strength within your life story. Some paintings simply decorate a room. Others transform the energy of a space — reminding us of who we are becoming. If she lingers in your thoughts after you walk away… if her gaze follows you gently… perhaps it’s because her journey has found a place in yours. Sometimes, art chooses its collector long before the collector decides.
Do you remember the promises you made quietly? The ones we whisper to ourselves when no one is listening.. those little intentions. That’s where this painting began for me — with the gentle commitments I carry just beneath the surface. As your eyes move through the canvas, you’ll notice how the colors shift — from deep violets into ocean blues, then into these soft, cloud-like spaces above. For me, that’s how life feels sometimes. Some days are saturated and layered with so much emotions… and others open into clarity and calm. All of these splashes of color are like memories. They scatter across the surface, then settle where we least expect them. Along the bottom right of the canvas, I painted these white orchids with intention and steadiness, because they symbolize the promises that hold. White, here, represents honesty, sincerity, and clarity. Flowers are reminders that the smallest promises can shape us more than mere words — because in a world full of loud declarations, the promises we choose to honor reveal the life we truly value… and create a legacy worthy of remembrance long after we are gone. So if this painting speaks to you — if you recognize your own quiet promises here — then maybe… this painting has already chosen you.
What if angels make themselves known not through miracles… but through colors, softness, and the whisper of a joyful feeling? That’s where this painting began for me. It’s titled When Angels Smile, and it’s the fourth piece in my series Return to Nature. In the soft white of a sky opening, light pours through. From that light, flowers begin to gather — strokes of pink and rose, almost celestial. Together, they become something serene. I feel the smiles of angels — not in grand gestures, but in quiet, gentle ways. As your eyes move downward, the colors shift into cool blues — like peace settling into the body, the way calmness returns after tears, the way breath steadies after worry. And anchoring all of it is the warm, golden ground — a reminder that we can always return to nature, stronger, softened, changed. Every speck of paint holds intention. I painted this slowly, in layers, letting each color dry before allowing the next emotion to land. It felt like listening. It felt like remembering. It felt like gratitude. The original has already entered a private collection in Canada, and works from this series are becoming increasingly difficult to acquire. For select collectors, I offer artist-enhanced limited edition giclées — museum-grade prints that I personally hand-detail, so no two are ever identical. A portion of each acquisition supports Kapiolani Medical Center for Women and Children, a cause very dear to me. These colors remind me of how children smile and laugh when joyful hues and blossoms fill the room. They take you somewhere tranquil, yet quietly energizing. And if you feel that connection — collectors often say that’s how they know when a piece of art is meant to live with them.
When you watch the sun slowly setting, then quickly turns into dissolving liquid gold… do you feel like the world exhales, and in that exact instant, memory becomes reverence? That’s the moment I wanted to capture. I painted the large glowing orb like the sun, but its placement and energy transcends a literal sunset. It becomes a symbol of life’s radiance — the soul at its most luminous. The surrounding grasses and delicate flowers suggest time in transition: the soft wind of change, the quiet surrender of nature meeting light. Golden Hour is not merely a time of day — it’s a metaphor for illumination before stillness, the clarity that comes right before things fade into evening. I feel that it is in that moment — when the universe seems to whisper: you are exactly where you’re meant to be. (PAUSE) Owning Golden Hour is like holding the last light of day — rare, fleeting, yet eternal. And once it’s gone… its glow belongs only to those who saw its beauty first. The original painting now resides with a collector in Honolulu, Hawaii — someone who felt its light mirrors their own path. So when the next golden light touches you… will you simply watch it fade, or will you claim it — and make its glow your own?
During uncertain times, we often reach for something—anything—that gives us a sense of control. Maybe it’s a symbol of comfort… or even something as simple as hoarding rolls of toilet paper. That’s where this painting began for me. In 2020, fear was nowhere more visible than in the aisles of bathroom supplies. I remember thinking how absurd—yet deeply human… this instinct to hold on to something tangible when the world feels unpredictable. So I turned that irony into art. The figure here walks gracefully, her gown flowing with color and whimsy, as she drags a trail of toilet paper behind her—like a couture accessory. The pink doorway suggests the threshold between fear and humor— between reality and escape. Laughter can become our way of coping… and art is our way of remembering. Are We There Yet is both satire and reflection— a portrait of resilience disguised as absurdity. This work was featured at the “Dress Me” International Contemporary Art Exhibition presented by M.A.D.S. Milano Gallery in Milan, Italy, September 2020. For collectors, it’s a piece that marks an unforgettable chapter in our shared history— a reminder that even in chaos, we can still find grace, color, and a reason to smile.
What if one painting could speak to another — across time, across lives? This one… is my Tribute to Gustav. Gustav Klimt is one of my greatest inspirations. His masterpiece Hope II sparked the beginning of this work. But rather than echoing his figures, I wanted to paint the energy that moves through them The gold background in my painting is reminiscent of Klimt’s gilded surfaces, but it isn’t ornamentation; I see it as the ground of the universe itself. Then there's green... which occupies the widest range in the human visual spectrum. Here, it represents life itself —evolving, and endlessly renewing. Bursts of crimson, yellow, and turquoise emerge like emotional outbursts — moments of joy, pain, and creation interwoven. While I deeply admire Klimt’s art spirit, I don’t seek to copy him. I wish to transform that inspiration into a language that is my own. Where his figures were adorned in pattern, mine dissolve into movement — fluid and untamed. His beautiful art merges realism and abstraction speaks of profound visual metaphors- I would like mine to speak of humanity returning to nature and divinity. And perhaps, as you stand before this piece, you’ll feel it speaking to you too — inviting you into that quiet realm where spirit and matter coexist… in your world.
Have you ever stood before a meadow and felt the peace and stillness that follows every storm… that gentle quiet that arrives after the rain? This painting was born from that moment—when the earth takes a soft breath of awakening. I wanted to capture the peacefulness of mist lingering over the fields, and the way the air hums with translucent color. Its layers unfold like memories, through countless tiny blossoms. The hues of red, white, violet, and blue speak of endurance… and of dreams. And then, as often happens when I believe I’m finished, something unexpected appeared. When I stepped back, I saw circles on the right side of the canvas—faint at first. I hadn’t planned them, yet intuition guided me to enhance them rather than paint them away. They became part of the sky, part of the story, part of the rain that always returns to light. Perhaps they are other worlds peeking through the clouds—where memories of loved ones continue to live. It’s as if they walk with me there, gently reminding me that love transforms… and never dies. And now, while you stand before this piece, I hope you feel that presence too— the quiet grace of connection… and the peace that comes after the rain.
Aloha, thank you for viewing this art piece titled BUTTERFLY EFFECT. Imagine waking up to this painting every morning. How different would your life feel if you knew that every choice you make—no matter how small—shapes the unseen, and perhaps even alters the course of the universe itself? I wasn’t really exploring that very idea when I first painted this canvas. I was simply experimenting with vast fields of colors and shapes inspired by the abstract painter Mark Rothko. I began with a rectanglular image… layering pigment upon pigment. Yet it didn’t feel like me. After four revisions, this piece transformed into a lavender field—its wild textures rising like an ocean of memories …like layers of lives intertwined. Then one day, while I was listening to a documentary on the Butterfly Effect… first discovered by meteorologist Edward Lorenz, I added a butterfly. It is the idea that a single wingbeat of a butterfly could cause a storm in a complex system. I’m fascinated by this concept in its roots in science… but even more by the philosophical truth it points to: the deep interconnectedness of everything. Here, the butterfly hovers between earth and sky—fragile, yet the gentle fluttering of its wings can stir powerful transformation. On the upper right corner, I painted a luminous sphere. Some might see a moon, a planet, or destiny itself. To me, it is the cosmos—listening… reminding us that nothing happens in isolation. This painting is deeply personal. Butterfly Effect is a meditation on change: a reminder that even the quietest whirl of a thought like a butterfly’s wings…can shift the rhythm of the world. It whispers that a single breath of courage—a choice to love, to stay, or to turn away… …can transform the landscape of destiny.
Have you ever felt that quiet ache… when the world you love begins to change the skies shifting, the trees thinning, the colors fading in ways you can’t quite name? There is a word for that feeling — Solastalgia. It’s a neologism a newly created word formed from the Latin sōlācium, meaning solace or comfort, and solus, meaning desolation combined with the Greek -algia, meaning pain or grief. Together, they describe the emotional and existential distress caused by the loss or degradation of our environment a homesickness we feel, even if we never left our homes… the sorrow we feel as the familiar landscape of our surroundings begin to vanish. I was moved to paint this piece after reading the National Geographic’s article, “An Optimist’s Guide to Life on Earth in 2070.” It made me wonder how we might still find hope, beauty, and belonging amid a changing planet. The lower part of this painting draws from Gustav Klimt’s Chalices. I thought of human beings holding to Mother Earth’s umbilical cord while our planet is still green, and our world is still alive. I wanted to capture humanity’s frailty, and our consciousness of grief and reverence the truth that beauty and loss often coexist. Owning Solastalgia is a reminder that Mother Earth is fragile. Her balance is delicate… And within every brushstroke lies a call to see her beauty so immense to remember what we still have, and to care for her more deeply, for she is only home we truly have.
In this painting… I wanted to explore the beauty hidden within entropy — that sacred moment when order begins to dissolve, and new forms rise from the swirl of becoming. At first glance, you might see only color — gold flowing into green, orange, red, and blue — but look closer… and she appears. A woman ascending, her body formed by motion itself — climbing toward light, toward possibility. I dreamt of immigrants before I painted this — souls searching for stability amid uncertainty. And perhaps she is one of them… carrying the weight of what she left behind, yet propelled by the promise of a new horizon. Around her, color moves like living energy, reminding us that even through chaos, life reorganizes itself with purpose. Theoretical physicist and writer, Carlo Rovelli once wrote that it’s not energy, but entropy, that makes the world turn. Perhaps he’s right — because in this endless rearranging, we find evolution, resilience, and beauty. That… is the Elegance of Entropy. And for the collector who connects with her journey — owning this piece is like holding that precise moment when courage meets transformation, and the soul steps forward… into its next beginning.
Isn’t healing something we discover together, in the spaces where hearts connect? That’s where this painting began for me — in that quiet place that refuses to dim, even when life feels uncertain. The greens here are layered intentionally. Green is glorious, and it is the most prevalent color in our natural world. According to many scientists and artists, green occupies the most space on the visible spectrum, and has more discernible hues visible to the human eye than any other color. Here in this painting, the greenery stretches upward…. each bloom a small yet proud act of faith — growing even when the path feels unclear. Like hope, it’s the meadow just beyond the hill you haven’t reached yet. It is the tender courage of roots pushing through soil they cannot see. Sometimes it’s a single bloom opening in silence. Every shade of green here carries that sense of hope returning, of quiet strength rising. Part of why this painting, titled Hope Leads to Greener Pastures, exists… is because I know what it means to walk through shadow. As a cancer survivor — and through a few other life challenges — I’ve learned that hope doesn’t need to be loud, it just needs to felt and held way deep inside. So when you stand in front of this painting, let your eyes wander into the greens, into those blooming spaces and allow yourself to return to nature, where hope resides. And if this painting leads you to something brighter in your life… and whispers that tomorrow might arrive softer, and more peaceful than today… perhaps it is meant to continue its journey with you.