S ome paintings feel like they arrive mid-stride, the way weather moves through the mountains around Dad’s studio. Summit has that same sense of motion—like the painting was made in the middle of climbing toward something open and unexpected.

Dad has painted mountains his whole life, but rarely in the literal, horizon-line way people expect. What interests him is the feeling of ascent—the shift in color, temperature, and rhythm as you move upward. In Summit, that climb happens through layered violets, bright pinks and oranges, and those confident planes of blue that seem to lift the eye whether you plan to follow or not.

The marks change as the painting rises: scraped textures, energetic gestures, and broad color passages that trade detail for momentum. The darker upper shapes feel grounded, but they’re also anchors—places for the brighter fields below to press against. He often lets color build the landscape, trusting intuition more than outlines or traditional structure.