Part of the joy in this series was playing with various mediums to achieve the different surface textures, like concrete and rotting wood, covered with lichen, moss, and vines, or the fog-laden marine layer. Second and third passes with ink, acrylic, and spray paint suggest light sources like boats, neon signs, and street lights. The final layers depict bridges, neighborhoods, or close-ups of textures and foliage, creating an overall unfocused effect through layers of fog, light pollution, and motion. These serve as a diary of those who came before me and illustrate the ongoing interplay between nature and humanity, an invitation for you to share the magic and beauty of San Francisco.

The imagined future of San Francisco in my art is neither utopian nor dystopian; it embodies the resilience of its people in the face of change, preserving our best qualities by repurposing the old. I don’t paint about pain, darkness, or hopelessness for a reason. I almost died here, but instead, I was given a second chance, along with a significant shift in perspective. I choose to focus on the kindness, the light, and the little moments that define the City (and the people) who saved me.

For years, I have struggled to convey how much San Francisco means to me. It borders on embarrassing; I love it as much as I have ever loved anything or anyone. To me, it feels like a living, breathing organism. Describing my life before arriving here feels tricky, as I often refer to it as “in the black.” I was incredibly unwell, both mentally and physically. I was battling alcoholic dementia, and my addiction severely impacted my ability to think, reason, and interact socially. Just before I got sober, I was unable to walk unassisted, suffered from seizures, and was in liver failure. I couldn't make eye contact with anyone and struggled to show up for work. Isolated and flat broke, I was homeless and desperate, wanting to die.