Paintings. Assemblage. Sacred Objects.
Los Angeles, CA
This is the calmest, most resolved piece in the body of work, and that restraint is its strength. Irregular fields of color — teal, ochre, rose, deep blue — are bound by thick black contours that function exactly like the leading in a cathedral window, and a broad cross-like form anchors the lower center without ever announcing itself as religious. That's the quiet intelligence of the painting: devotion enters through structure rather than subject. There's no face here, no narrative, just the architecture of looking, and yet it carries the same spiritual weight as the figurative work by other means. The hand-mixed color keeps every pane slightly imperfect, so the surface breathes rather than reading as flat design. It's the piece in the room that lets the eye rest — and the one that quietly reveals the artist can hold a composition together on pure form alone.
A found Little Golden Book cover — Smokey Bear and the whole cast of American childhood, with a body lying at his feet. The mascot built to make you responsible, presiding over the cost. Mixed media in painted frame panel.
Private collection.
A lone figure stands crowned and barefoot against a field of gold, arms raised, a red heart burning at the center of the chest, with the words "We the People Are King" hand-lettered down the sides. It rewrites the language of the constitution as a blessing rather than a law — the crown taken off the head of power and handed to the ordinary person. Raw, frontal, and unmistakably regal, it insists that sovereignty belongs to the people who were never told they had it. The gold ground does the rest, turning a street-painted figure into an icon.
Private Collection
A bald head whose entire skin surface is covered in collaged imagery — tiny figures, folk saints, fragments of memory — the face as a living archive of culture, ancestry, and self. The flat color block background holds the chaos in place. This is portraiture as autobiography, the body as a record of everything it has survived and carried.
Not available. Exhibited work.
A calm, childlike face surfaces through a haze of teal and green, soft yellow dots drifting across it like fireflies or fruit or light through leaves. It's hard to say where the face ends and the garden begins — they're made of the same breath of color, the figure half-emerging, half-dissolving. After the louder faces, this is the one that slows everything down: tender, dreamlike, a little otherworldly. The piece you'd hang where you want the room to go q
Pink roses bloom in every cell of a dense black lattice, set against restless brushwork of teal, green, and blue — a whole garden seen all at once, with no single place for the eye to land. The heavy dark trellis could read as a cage, but the roses keep pushing through it anyway, and that quiet tension is the heart of the piece: beauty that insists on growing wherever it's planted. All-over and rhythmic, it works like wallpaper in the best sense — something you live inside rather than just look at.
A large frontal figure built from hundreds of embedded found objects — folk saints, beads, a Guadalupe medallion, toy limbs, glass eyes, rosary chains, crystals, shells, and devotional medals — all radiating from a central painted face set against a dark textured ground. The figure is simultaneously Our Lady, Santa Muerte, a Yoruba orisha, and a Día de Muertos altar. The radiating bead and object field functions as a mandorla — the sacred light field surrounding a holy figure — constructed from junk, treasure, memory, and devotion in equal measure.
Not available for sale. Private collection.
This is one of the most emotionally direct works in the body of work. A single figure props its head against an open hand, the gesture every viewer knows in their own body — exhaustion, contemplation, the moment of holding yourself together. What lifts it past mere expression is the white contour line: it doesn't describe the face so much as fracture and reassemble it, so the features read like a mask cracking and healing at the same time. Against the vertical stripes behind, the figure feels both pinned in place and pushing forward out of the surface. The palette stays deliberately raw — there's no prettifying here — and that refusal is the point. The Basquiat and Munch lineage is visible, but the feeling is wholly the artist's own: a portrait of what it costs simply to keep paying attention.
A huge grin surfaces out of a storm of white drips, splatter, and crumpled texture — joy assembled from chaos rather than calm. Step back and it's unmistakably a face, all open mouth and squinting eye; lean in and it dissolves into pure gesture and accident. That's the trick of the piece: it holds happiness and disorder in the same breath, the way a real laugh does. Raw, immediate, and impossible not to smile back at.
Private Collection.
A woman's face emerges from a dense skin of sequins, beads, buttons, and rhinestones — gold across the eyelids, jewels spilling through the hair like a crown that never ends. From across the room she's simply a serene, downcast face; up close she dissolves into a thousand glittering fragments, each one a small offering pressed into the surface. It's devotion built by hand, piece by piece, the way an altar or a shrine accumulates over years. Beautiful at any distance, but it asks you to come closer.
Private Collection
A woman gazes straight out, calm and unflinching, her magenta hair blazing against a field of deep cobalt. Her skin isn't painted so much as built — dripped, spattered, and layered in flecks of gold, green, and rose, as if she's made of the same restless color that surrounds her. The contrast is the whole charge of the piece: fire-red hair against cool blue dark, stillness in the face against riot in the surface. She holds her ground like she's been doing it a long time.
Private Collection
A swarm of masked faces, figures, and a wild-eyed horse crowd a black field lit up in neon color, with hand-lettered placards cutting through the chaos: "The Revolution Will Not Be Televised," "No Peace on Stolen Land," "Resist · Change · Revolt · Uprise." It's protest as painting — the energy of the street pressed onto canvas, loud and unsorted and alive. The black ground makes every color burn, and the text turns the whole piece into a banner you could carry. The most overtly political work in the collection, and one of the most charged.
A face stares straight out, brown-skinned and wide-eyed, three gold points rising from its head like a crown cut from cardboard and pure will. The thick black outline and raw, built-up surface give it the force of a mask or a saint's portrait, while the splattered jewel-tone ground keeps it rooted in the street it came from. This is royalty on its own terms — no palace, no permission, just the declaration that the everyday person was crowned all along. One of the artist's clearest signature images.
Private Collection
Teal channels and orange roads wind through a dense field of stripes, dots, and chambered shapes — a landscape you read by feeling rather than logic. The heavy black outlines give every form the confidence of a sign or a symbol, though none of them spell anything you could name. It's the artist's intuitive process made visible: thought as territory, mapped while wandering. Complementary teal and orange keep it humming with energy, the kind of piece that rewards a long second look.
A man rests with his eyes closed, a wash of gold light falling across his face, while a mosaic of small jewel-toned squares hums into being all around him. He isn't sleeping — he's willing the world into form. The closed eyes turn inward, and the field of color reads as everything taking shape out of that stillness: thought becoming matter, intention becoming light. The everyday man given the quiet power usually reserved for saints and dreamers — proof that what we picture with enough faith starts to appear.
Cobalt ribbons unspool and loop across a soft, scumbled field of coral, mint, and pale gold — pure movement, like water finding its way before it settles. There's no figure here and nothing to decode, just the pleasure of a line that refuses to sit still. The faded grid beneath the loops keeps everything anchored, so the blue can wander without ever feeling lost. The piece on the wall that makes a room exhale.
A face painted in every color at once — green, orange, magenta, blue — staring straight out with one big ringed eye and a wide red mouth. There's no single skin tone here and that's the point: it's a face made of everyone, lit up like a celebration that won't quiet down. The bold black outline holds all that riot together, the way a strong drawing can carry any amount of color. Pure exuberance, the feeling of a face on its best, loudest day.
A woman's face, drawn in thick black cubist contours, is filled in entirely with collaged vintage cartoons — Mickey, Donald, the Sorcerer's Apprentice peeking out from inside her features. The effect is unsettling and tender at once: childhood pasted over the adult face, the fantasies we were raised on showing through the skin. The bold black lines fracture her like a Picasso, while the bright comic scraps hum underneath, refusing to stay in the past. A portrait of how the things we loved as kids never quite let go.
A figure emerges from a blue ground through scratched and incised marks — the surface revealed rather than painted, a sacred icon discovered in plaster. The circular halo structure is unmistakable. The most recent work in the devotional portrait series, and the most quietly powerful.
Available. Contact for pricing.
A shaved head rests on a raised hand against deep cobalt blue — the entire surface of skin covered in gestural marks, scrawled letters, and visual noise, as if the interior life is erupting through the skin. Repose and chaos held in the same body.
Not available. Exhibited work.
A grey-blue shaved head stares forward — one eye open, one closed — face adorned with cosmetic markings, set against a swirling folk-pattern background of concentric circles and organic forms. Sacred icon, club kid, folk deity. This is where the devotional portrait series began.
Not available. Exhibited work.
The most physically intense painting in the series — black impasto built to near-sculpture, face fragments and spiral forms emerging from and dissolving into maximum surface relief. Still wet at time of photograph. The practice at full force.
Available. Contact for pricing.
Contact
Custom pieces start at $500. Please fill out this form to inquire.