There’s a certain wind in the West—relentless, dry, always moving. It scours the stone, lifts the dust, combs the grasses flat. And then… there’s this place.
“Cove” is a portrait of shelter.
It’s where the wind pauses. Where the land gathers into a soft bowl, almost protective. And even though the cliffs rise sharp and sun-bleached, the space they enclose feels safe. Cradled. Still. I painted it not as a sweeping vista, but as a held breath—a quiet reprieve from the usual push and noise of the world outside.
The colors are intentional. Blush and lavender layered with sage and bone—a palette softened by time and softened again by memory. Nothing here is trying to impress you. It just is. Steady. Patient. A place to stop and let the dust settle.
I think we all have—or long for—a place like this. A place that holds us when life is too loud. A place that doesn’t rush to fix anything, but offers quiet, sky, and a little room to exhale. That’s what Cove is about.
It’s a painting of a place that protects, simply by existing.
