Roaming House | a journey home
Roaming House began as an image and turned into a companion. It’s a structure that never stays still—appearing on ridgelines, in open fields, at the edge of town, or in places memory insists on returning to. The house moves the way the mind moves: drifting, circling, retracing its steps, trying to become a home again.
Some days it leans, some days it stands firm. Some days it tilts under the weight of what it carries. Each version reflects a different season of my life—grief, rebuilding, stubborn persistence, the strange humor of survival. The house holds all of it.
I paint it as a witness, a creature, a shelter with a pulse. It’s the place we drag with us everywhere—the thing we’re trying to fix, escape, rebuild, or understand. As it roams, it gathers new skies, new colors, new shadows. It grows tired. It grows brave. It grows more mine and less mine at the same time.
This series is ongoing because the house keeps moving. And so do I.
Some days it leans, some days it stands firm. Some days it tilts under the weight of what it carries. Each version reflects a different season of my life—grief, rebuilding, stubborn persistence, the strange humor of survival. The house holds all of it.
I paint it as a witness, a creature, a shelter with a pulse. It’s the place we drag with us everywhere—the thing we’re trying to fix, escape, rebuild, or understand. As it roams, it gathers new skies, new colors, new shadows. It grows tired. It grows brave. It grows more mine and less mine at the same time.
This series is ongoing because the house keeps moving. And so do I.
