Old and New Horizons

$30.00

Old and New Horizons is a painting that came from a place I can't always explain — I just sometimes need to paint skulls. There's something about them that pulls intensity out of me, forces me to confront things directly. A skull is more than death — it's structure, it's armor, it's history. And for me, it's deeply personal. When I got blown up in Iraq, my skull did its job. It kept my brain intact just enough to survive. I came out of that explosion with a traumatic brain injury, but I came out alive. This painting honors that — the silent shield that bore the brunt of a moment meant to kill me.

The skull sits square in the center of the canvas, slightly turned but unblinking, suspended in a glowing red aura that radiates out like heat or warning. The color palette is fierce and minimal — ochres, bone whites, and burnt umbers for the skull, surrounded by a rich gradient of reds and crimson. The background transitions from a deep blood red near the skull to softer, more pastel pinks and oranges along the edges, creating contrast between vitality and fragility.

The style is expressive realism — you can see the anatomical accuracy, but the loose brushwork and exaggerated shadows give it emotional weight. It’s not just a skull; it’s a symbol of survival. The surface work shows varied textures: layered brushstrokes in the bone, blended edges in the background, and high contrast lighting for drama. The initials TC at the bottom right seal the piece like a signature in blood — a quiet mark that says, I made it.

This painting may not have been planned, but it speaks clearly. It’s a visceral tribute to what stays behind, what holds us together, and what carries us forward — even when everything else tries to tear us apart.

Old and New Horizons is a painting that came from a place I can't always explain — I just sometimes need to paint skulls. There's something about them that pulls intensity out of me, forces me to confront things directly. A skull is more than death — it's structure, it's armor, it's history. And for me, it's deeply personal. When I got blown up in Iraq, my skull did its job. It kept my brain intact just enough to survive. I came out of that explosion with a traumatic brain injury, but I came out alive. This painting honors that — the silent shield that bore the brunt of a moment meant to kill me.

The skull sits square in the center of the canvas, slightly turned but unblinking, suspended in a glowing red aura that radiates out like heat or warning. The color palette is fierce and minimal — ochres, bone whites, and burnt umbers for the skull, surrounded by a rich gradient of reds and crimson. The background transitions from a deep blood red near the skull to softer, more pastel pinks and oranges along the edges, creating contrast between vitality and fragility.

The style is expressive realism — you can see the anatomical accuracy, but the loose brushwork and exaggerated shadows give it emotional weight. It’s not just a skull; it’s a symbol of survival. The surface work shows varied textures: layered brushstrokes in the bone, blended edges in the background, and high contrast lighting for drama. The initials TC at the bottom right seal the piece like a signature in blood — a quiet mark that says, I made it.

This painting may not have been planned, but it speaks clearly. It’s a visceral tribute to what stays behind, what holds us together, and what carries us forward — even when everything else tries to tear us apart.