I grew up on a dairy farm in beautiful upstate New York. My two older brothers and I spent most of our time and energy exploring our playground, the foothills of the Adirondack mountains, which left little time for artistic pursuits. When I was twelve years old my grandmother, Mrs. Elmira Landis, signed me up for art lessons at a local craft store. Unfortunately, construction paper, paste and the dull hum of the fluorescent lights were no match for raft building, catching tadpoles and busting ten-foot cattails on the edge of our pond! The art classes came to a quick end.

It wasn’t until years later and a series of unforeseen events while enlisted in the Air Force that I began to realize the benefits and challenges of art. When my service time ended, I was ready for Grandma’s art class, and I enrolled in the State University of New York, receiving fine arts instruction through the Munson Williams Proctor Arts Institute in Utica, New York.

Upon earning an associate’s degree in fine art in 1990, I was ready to spend my days painting, but a far greater power moved me to the employment sector — marriage. In 1991 I got a job at a printing company in Saratoga Springs, New York, and learned the new skills of digital imaging.

Six years later, and with a growing family, we moved to the rugged Ozark mountains in southwest Missouri. Once again, I found myself back on the farm, this time as a ranch foreman for a neighbor, a labor that kept me occupied for the next eighteen years. Although, not completely occupied — in my spare time I painted several pastel paintings as gifts.

In a happy meeting of art and practical life, I found that the skills learned in the classroom transferred effortlessly to many different occupations. My employer, an attorney, also had numerous offices that I renovated or trimmed out. The trim was unique in that not only did I design and construct the compound moldings, but I also cut down the black walnut trees and milled the lumber on a portable band mill, air-drying the wood to preserve the deep chocolate brown color of the tree known as “Ozark Gold.”

At the same time I embraced a more intimate use of the wood in the crafting of fine furniture. In the construction of these pieces of furniture it’s possible — and more desirable — to use non-electric hand tools (exactly the way it was done in colonial times). For me, the use of these hand tools was therapeutic — no noise, no dust, just the smell of the wood and the piles of curled-up wood shavings growing around my feet. My furniture designs follow my interests: the graceful, classical and restrained styles of the periods from the Queen Anne to the Federal (approx. 1702–1823).

These days, thanks to a series of changes, painting has been revived in my life. Specifically, I have felt called to portraiture. This is a style of painting that has always challenged me for its restrictions and its requirement to capture the spirit of the person. However, it’s not only the challenges that attract me to portraiture, but also the rewards. With each portrait, I’m producing a piece of artwork that represents the most valuable things in people’s lives — other people.

In portraiture I experience a process: the challenge motivates and issues a call . . . a struggle ensues . . . victory graces me in the form of a completed portrait. The spoils of the battle are the smiles of the recipients of a treasured portrait.

The burden I feel during the production of a piece of art is tempered with a truth learned in college. Early on, I learned that art is subjective. Not everyone will like what you produce: the greatest artists in history had critics — how many more will I? But in no way does this prevent me from striving to extract from myself the greatest portion of the talents given me.

Every commission is approached with the utmost respect and reverence for not only the people involved, but also the product that is meant to endure for future generations. Every commission I receive is pursued with the goal of the resultant artwork being the very best I can produce.