My journey into art began unexpectedly—one quiet November afternoon in Kyoto, Japan. As I wandered through the tranquil halls of Nijo Castle, surrounded by the ethereal beauty of 17th-century Edo-period brush paintings, something awakened in me. Perhaps it was the stillness after years of unrelenting study, or the pull of Japanese Buddhist art and philosophy that had always stirred something deep within. Whatever it was, I returned to Los Angeles changed—with a quiet, steady conviction: I needed to paint.
At the time, I had just begun to find my footing as a psychiatrist in private practice. For the first time in years, space opened up—not just in my schedule, but in my spirit. I enrolled in a Chinese brush painting course at Santa Monica College, where Ms. Linco Chao became my first teacher and guide. Under her care, and later with Ms. Angela Hsin, I explored the elegance of traditional brush techniques, eventually studying Ling-Nan style painting. But when Ms. Hsin retired, the search for a new teacher led me to unexpected territory—and into the world of abstraction.
Mr. Bryan Ricci, a gifted artist and teacher of acrylic and mixed media, encouraged me to explore art as a process of experimentation. Under his guidance, I began blending the lyrical flow of brush painting with the freedom of contemporary acrylics. This process of layering, unlayering, and rediscovering gave me the expressive range I had long been searching for. The brush became less about line and form, and more about movement and emotion—about color as a living, breathing force.
Under the gentle and deeply spiritual guidance of my art mentor, Ms. Linda Jacobson—an artist and educator at Otis College of Art and Design—I have been refining my creative process while expanding and deepening my understanding of both art-making and art history. Her mentorship has encouraged me to explore new dimensions in my work, connect more consciously with the emotional and symbolic layers of visual language, and situate my practice within a broader artistic lineage. Through her wisdom and encouragement, I’ve come to see painting not just as a personal expression, but as a profound, living dialogue with the past, present, and unseen.
At the same time, my clinical work was deepening under the mentorship of Dr. Terry Marks-Tarlow, whose writings on therapeutic intuition helped me trust my own. I began to notice a mirror between my evolving presence as a therapist and my evolution as an artist. As I grew more attuned to my patients’ inner worlds, I found my own inner world expanding—richer in emotional nuance, freer in expression, more grounded in intuition.
Now, my work moves beyond the depiction of visible forms. It seeks to express the invisible—the shifting textures of feeling, the memory of color, the emotional resonance of a moment. I lean toward warm, luminous palettes and compositions that invite the eye to wander and the spirit to rest. My paintings are not representations; they are invitations—into hope, into reflection, into the quiet strength we all carry within.
My intuitive process draws from a wide range of materials, including watercolor, oil, alcohol inks, collaged paper, and richly pigmented gesso on canvas, wood, recycled cardboard, and paper. Recent works incorporate gelli plate prints and transparent varnishes, creating layered compositions that feel both intimate and expansive.
My creative philosophy centers on freedom and discovery. “I follow color and mood until shapes emerge, dissolve, or hide again—until the painting feels like it’s breathing.” Each piece becomes its own living space, often arriving at a more surprising and exciting place than originally envisioned. I frequently work on multiple pieces at once, letting them evolve in conversation with each other.
My paintings have been exhibited in juried group shows with the Los Angeles Art Association (LAAA) and at TAG Gallery, where I have the honor of being a current member. My work is often recognized for its luminous color and depth, as well as for the poetic quality of the writing that accompanies the paintings—an extension of the same visual language.
In both psychiatry and painting, I hold the same intention: to create a space where healing, beauty, and transformation can unfold. My art is a visual offering—a reminder that we are never alone, and that joy, creativity, and connection remain available to us, even in life’s most uncertain hours.