In high school, during my first formal art class, my teacher, Ms. Pearson, said something that forever changed me. She told me, "Michael, you have a gift. Don't pay attention to the rules—just let your art come out of your soul. I've never seen anything like you, and I've been doing this my whole life." She once described my work as a blend of Jackson Pollock and Pablo Picasso, and told me the world wasn't ready for me yet—but that when it was, it would happen quickly. I loved her for that belief. She ignited something in me that never went out.
After moving to Denver in late 2020, I began to truly explore the depth of what I was capable of. Friends, family, and colleagues started to experience my work firsthand. My art naturally found its way into the luxury homes I was staging and selling—becoming an extension of me within the spaces I curate. It doesn't decorate a room; it defines an energy.
I've never sold my art. I've only gifted it or shared it with a select few. The materials alone are costly, but more importantly, each piece carries something irreplaceable. When people ask if I would ever sell my work, my response is always the same: come see it, spend time with it. I believe art calls to its collector—not the other way around. If it's meant to be yours, you'll feel it.