Her Head in the Clouds came the way the rest have come — with time, with intuition, and by letting the work go where it wanted to go. What emerged was a cloud formation, and beneath it the lower half of a face, a neck, the beginning of shoulders. She revealed herself slowly. I only followed.

She is an antidote to realism. The clouds form a soft barrier — filtering out doubt, correction, and the clear-eyed logic that tells you what is and isn't possible. Sometimes the blocking of a realistic view is exactly what's needed. To hear the innards of self. To follow the dream anyway. To do the audacious thing while the nay-sayers say nay.

Thoreau put it better than I can: "It is better to have your head in the clouds, and know where you are... than to breathe the clearer atmosphere below them, and think that you are in paradise."

This work is a space to build dreams in — before anyone tells you they can't be built.

The work that emerged from that memory surprised me. What began as a tribute to childhood whimsy became something more cartographic — dense stippled forms that read like topographical data, elevation contours, aerial surveys of terrain that exists somewhere between sky and earth. A dotted trail threads through the composition like a path through unmapped country. I find the tension between those two readings — the dreamed and the charted — to be where the work lives.

I hope it invites you to pause, look closely, and find your own geography within it.

Selected for In Black and White, a juried group exhibition at Site:Brooklyn Gallery, New York (2025–26).

This work is available.