Portraits, Landscapes, & Commissioned Masterpieces in Oil

There are some places that stay with you long after you’ve packed up your gear and headed home. For me, Dogtooth Portage—tucked off one of the Finger Lakes at Hawks Lake in Winnipeg, Ontario—is one of those rare spots. I first sketched the scene during my stay at Hawks Lake Lodge last year, after a day on the water that I won’t soon forget.

The original painting began as a rough study, brushed together quickly between the lodge’s quiet hum and the fading evening light. But the moment I returned to my studio, I knew I wasn’t finished with it. There was something about that shoreline, that stillness, that deserved more attention. Layer by layer, the memory came back to life on the canvas.

Part of what made that day unforgettable was the company. My guide and I had spent the afternoon fishing, and it turned into one of those rare, perfect days on the water. I broke my personal best by landing a Smallmouth Bass on a Sneaky Pete fly—a moment equal parts luck, skill, and pure joy. When I finally completed the painting, I sent it to him. It felt right to share the finished piece with someone who had been part of the story behind it.

Dogtooth Portage isn’t just a landscape. It’s a reminder of a place that gave me peace, a day that gave me a memory, and a painting that brought it all back home.

As the days grow shorter and the air takes on that unmistakable crispness, Massachusetts prepares for one of its most iconic autumn traditions: the cranberry harvest. From late September through October, the bogs of Plymouth, Carver, Marshfield, Plympton, and surrounding towns transform into a patchwork of deep reds and golds, drawing visitors and locals alike to witness the spectacle.

For me, this season isn’t just about the harvest—it’s about capturing its fleeting beauty. I’ve spent the past months painting en plein air across the South Shore, chasing light and color through bogs, fields, and coastal marshes. As we get closer to peak harvest, I’ll be sharing a selection of these landscape paintings, each one inspired by the rhythm and richness of cranberry country.

Whether you’re drawn to the quiet stillness of a misty morning in Marshfield or the vibrant energy of a flooded bog in Carver, I hope these works offer a moment of reflection—and a reminder of the beauty tucked into our everyday surroundings.Stay tuned for updates on where to view or purchase the paintings as the season unfolds. And if you’re out exploring the harvest, keep an eye out—I might just be painting nearby.

Some stories aren’t just meant to be told; they are meant to be captured, to be relived, and to be cherished forever. This is one of those stories.

Lee reached out to me with an idea that was as heartfelt as it was creative—he wanted to propose to his girlfriend, Madison, in a way that was both meaningful and artistic. Their special place was King Park in Newport, RI, where they often found peace walking together, soaking up the views of Newport Harbor, the Newport Bridge, and the graceful sailboats gliding by. It was here, in this serene setting, that he envisioned asking her to be his forever. But he wanted more than just the memory—he wanted a painting that immortalized the moment.

I set to work, visiting the location, studying its ambiance, and crafting a composition that would tell their love story. The pergola, set to the left, became the centerpiece. A schooner entered the harbor, the park gently overlooked the Newport Bridge, and a couple—he with a guitar, she lounging in a beach chair—added life to the scene. It was a quintessential May day, overcast with the ocean mist, but the sun was just beginning to break through. And then, at the heart of the painting, Lee and Madison stood within the pergola—the young man on one knee, asking the most important question of his life.

Lee loved the concept. But he wanted to take it even further—he asked me to play a role in his proposal. On the day he planned to pop the question, I would be in the park painting, allowing the couple to “stumble upon” me and naturally engage with the artwork. From there, Lee would take Madison over to the pergola, suggest a photo, and then—just as in the painting—drop to one knee and ask her to marry him.

That day was nothing short of magical. I set off from Marshfield, MA in the rain, uncertain of what the weather had in store. But just as I arrived at King Park, the rain stopped, the clouds parted, and the scene unfolded exactly as I had envisioned. As I set up my easel, the park became a living canvas, reflecting the very moment I had sketched. When Lee and Madison arrived, the stage was set.

Everything went perfectly. As he knelt before her, the entire park became their audience. Couples perched on the wall, a man walking his dog, joggers passing by—everyone seemed to pause in time, watching love unfold. Applause echoed through the park as she said yes.

And then, the final touch: I handed Lee and Madison the painting, the same moment they had just lived, captured forever on canvas. They carried it away with them, a piece of art that wasn’t just a beautiful image, but a living memory.

Some proposals are planned. Some are unexpected. But this—this was a masterpiece in motion. And I was honored to have been a part of it.

A day to remember, a painting to cherish, and a love story that will forever be framed in time.

It was an overcast day in October and I was looking for a place to paint, that while offering me shelter, would also provide a lot of light. Foliage season is upon us and painting these colors is a challenge. I remember sitting in on a critique of paintings at art school, and the instructor commented on a fellow students work. He called it a tide die explosion of color and that was not a compliment. That description struck a nerve and I vowed to never have a tide die painting. 

The Mass Audubon's North River Wildlife Sanctuary in Marshfield was a perfect location. I walked all the way out onto the dock/viewing platform and took in the colors of the grass, trees, water and distant red barn from the old railroad that once crossed the North River. The challenge was to get a painting before I got rained on. I never start a painting without laying out my composition first, then I do a sketch, and finally begin the piece. Fortunately it all worked out, and while trying to work with a limited pallet, I was able to achieve a small painting that represented my experience at the end of that dock.