Blue-Gold Stillness

Violet-Gold Break

Evening Light in the Water

Olive Light Along the Bank

Blue Hills with Lilac Water

There’s a certain point in the evening on the water where everything starts to settle, but it’s not quite over yet. The light is lower, softer, and the surface of the lake begins to hold more than the sky. Colors shift, reflections deepen, and things that felt separate earlier in the day start to blend together.

That’s where this series came from.

It isn’t about a specific lake or place the way some of my other work is. It’s about that stretch of time after you’ve been out for a while—maybe fishing, maybe just drifting—and you realize it won’t be long before you head in. Nothing is rushed. The birds are still there, but quieter. The water isn’t flat, but it’s not busy either. It just… holds.

Each piece in Reflected Light comes from a slightly different moment inside that window.

There’s one where everything feels wide open and steady, where the gold stays contained in the blue and nothing pushes too hard. Another where the color starts to break a little—violet working against gold, reflections not quite holding together the same way. One where everything softens and settles, edges dissolving just enough that nothing stands apart.

Some move closer to the bank, where the light catches in grasses and along uneven edges, breaking into smaller pieces. Others stay out in open water, where the color spreads and blends until it’s hard to tell what’s reflection and what’s coming from above. And in a few, there are those quieter tones—lilac, muted blues, soft greens—that don’t show themselves right away, but sit there once you start looking.

What ties them together is the feeling of that moment when you stop looking across the lake and start looking into it.

It’s less about what’s out there, and more about what’s happening on the surface—how the light settles, how the color holds, how everything slows down without fully stopping.