Abstracts Works
These paintings began as moments of pause, the kind that comes after too much
thinking. The hand moves, the paint answers, and something wordless starts to
appear. Each surface holds traces of that exchange, black pressing over color,
color leaking through, the quiet argument between control and release.
In these works, blue becomes weight, yellow brief pause, pink a whisper under
asphalt. The compositions are stripped down but never empty. These fragments
of rhythm, sound, and emotion flattened into form, the residue of thought when
language falls away.
They are not meant to explain themselves. They are meant to breathe.
The Sound Blue Makes When it Breaks
Acrylic 12 x 12” framed and matted
This piece is all rhythm and splatter, blue pushing against itself until it becomes a noise. The black swipes give it gravity, while the white gaps make it pulse with air. It’s not a seascape, though it remembers one- it’s the memory of motion, the echo of a wave that hit to hard and then forgot why. The paint feels impatient, almost musical, like the aftermath of a storm rearranging itself into calm again.
Ship Side at Nightht
Acrylic 12 x 12” framed and matted
Sometimes I stand so close to the edge it feels like I can hear the sea breathing back. The blue isn’t really blue, it’s the sound I remembered, maybe a person. I think about how water keeps every story, even the ones we tried to forget. The dark isn’t lonely: it’s soft, like being held while the world keeps moving past.
Light through Factory Windows
Acrylic 12 x 12” framed and matted
I remember the way light used to find its way through the cracks, even in places that forgot to notice it. The yellow feels like work and warmth at once, the blue like breath between hours. I think about the hands that built the things made here, how they must have glowed for a second when the sun hit just right. I paint that moment, the one where something ordinary almost feels holy without meaning to.
Red with Apology
Acrylic 12 x 12” framed and matted
Sometimes I paint like I ‘m saying I’m sorry, not for anything specific, just for existing too loudly. The red keeps showing up no matter how much black I mix into it. It’s stubborn, like quilt that refuses to fade. But when I stand back I see light in it too somethng raw, human, still trying to be forgiven by the color itself. Maybe that is what I am always paint toward-the part of me trying to make peace with the noise.
I Heard the Grass Thinking
12 x 12 “ framed and matted
In I heard the Grass Thinking Brazeal moves from combustion to renewal The greens are nervous and alive, whispering in a language older than words. Broad strokes wander over smaller hesitations, like growth happening while no one watches. Light flickers through the black passages as if thought itself is photosynthesis. The painting feels alive but uncertain, fragile in its confidence. It is a meditation on what means to listen to the world, to oneself, to silence between brushstrokes, The longer you look the louder the green becomes, until it fills the room with breathing.
The Night Fell in Stripes
Acrylic 12 x 12” framed and matted
Darkness doesn’t arrive all at once here. It slides in, line by line as if someone was dragging a curtain against a burning sky. The yellow flashes fight to stay visible while violet embers sink beneath the black. There’s a pulse inside it, a stubborn hum that makes the surface feel alive, Like the last light of a street still remembering how to glow.
Beneath the Green Glass River
Acrylic 12 x 12” framed and matted
This painting moves likewater seen through a bruise, green layered over black, streaked with blue that tries to breathe through. It feels submerged, as if looking up from the bottom of something heavy and alive. The yellow line near the center acts like sunlight filtered through weeds, guiding the eye in and out of the murk. It’s both claustrophic and tender, holding the viewer in that moment when light almost gives up but doesn’t.
Everything That fell Kept Moving
Acrylic on Paper 12 x 12” framed and matted
Blue, violet, and turquoise slide over one another until they forget where they began. Transparency becomes rythmn, slow, tidal, uncertain. It is the sensation of water caught between calm and current, where color does what memory does, slipping from one shape to another.
Loud Silence
Acrylic on paper 12 x 12” framed and matted
Nothing whispers here. Every brushstroke shouts, but between these shouts live a strange quiet, the moment after thunder before you breathe again. The colors refuse to mix, holding their ground like rivals that know they need each other. The portrait of noise learning how to stay still