Studio Journal #1 :

Return North: To Live inside the world that inspires the work.

Why the North ?

I grew up in the south of France, surrounded by ancient stone villages and castles, centuries of history and craftsmanship built into everyday life. That world was training my eye long before I ever picked up a brush: restraint over excess, atmosphere over spectacle, refinement over trends. I didn’t know it at the time, but those instincts didn’t come from nowhere.

Years later, when I finally committed to classical training, I understood why certain painters had always spoken to me — Alma-Tadema, Bouguereau, Mancini, Zorn, Waterhouse. Not because of their subjects, but because of the discipline underneath them: truthful anatomy, luminous light, restrained brushwork, atmosphere that carries the emotion rather than announcing it.

France shaped my eye. The north chose my subject.

I’ve been a full-time painter for fourteen years, but the North found me long before that. In my twenties, I lived in Alaska and was learning to mush sled dogs, out in the wilderness on those long days. When I came home, I started sketching. That Christmas, my brother gave me an acrylic paint kit, and that was it. I haven’t put a pencil or brush down since.

When I became a professional, I switched to oil. Eventually I built a career out west, painting on my own terms for the first time, and I did well. But I’d already known Alaska before I ever painted in Montana, and something about staying there always felt like settling. Why paint the edge of the wild when I already knew what it felt like to stand in the middle of it? The wildest place in North America was always the place I was actually chasing.

Alaska is different from anywhere else I’ve painted. In the lower 48, wilderness is something you drive to — small pockets tucked between everything else. Here, it’s the other way around: wilderness is everywhere, and civilization is the small pocket. That reversal changes how you see. It taught me atmosphere, silence, weather, light.

Getting my pilot’s license only confirmed it. In Alaska, the roads run out — a bush plane isn’t a luxury, it’s how you actually reach the wild places. Eagles and moose become part of daily life instead of a subject you chase, and so do sled dogs — up here, they’re everywhere. It’s not about wolves anymore, or even wolves and bears and foxes. It’s about the whole northern world, and I want to live inside it — not visit it, not reference it from photos, but actually be there, so the work comes from the place itself.

Sketchbook

Before a painting comes to life, it often exists here first — pencil or charcoal on paper. Sometimes it’s just a quick sketch, a way to put down a wolf’s gaze or two sled dogs curled together before the idea disappears — an archive of things I want to remember. Sometimes it turns into something more finished than I ever intended. I never really know which it’s going to be until I’m in it. The north gives me so much that I rarely go a day without a pencil in hand.

Paintings in the field

Most of this happens alone — no crew, no assistant, just me, a sketchbook, and whatever I can carry. Some days it’s mountains in the fall light, some days it’s watching for wildlife through binoculars before I ever pick up a pencil. My truck doubles as my studio out here — wherever I stop is wherever I work.

Available Works

A small sample of what’s available — more pries from the North on my website.

Thank you for following this journey.

I’ll be sharing the road back North, new sketches, paintings, and life in Alaska in the next Studio Journal.