Why I Paint

Introduction to themes of painting, blindness, and rehabilitation

My paintings weaves together three themes that have shaped my life and work for decades: blindness, vision rehabilitation, and art. Each thread is deeply personal, yet universally human—offering a lens into how creativity and resilience can transform loss into meaning.

Art and Memory

Painting on glass emerged from a concept I began exploring in the early 1990s and has since become my preferred art medium. Although I lost my eyesight completely in 1982, my visual memory remains vivid. Ironically, it's not the remembered landscapes I struggle to paint—it's the conceptual themes that challenge me most.

The irony of painting as a blind artist is not lost on me: I engage with a visual form I cannot see, yet I rely on tactile feedback, spatial intuition, and conceptual clarity to shape what others will perceive.

From the beginning, I was drawn to art as a way to communicate what I "see" and experience as a blind person. Over two decades of working in vision rehabilitation with adults newly adjusting to blindness, I've witnessed countless journeys through crisis, adaptation, and resilience. These encounters continue to shape both my perception and my artistic expression.

Perspective, color, and the dimensions of personal experience are central to my work. I see painting as an ongoing conversation—one that transcends sight yet remains deeply visual. A print of Magritte's Ceci N'est Pas Une Pipe hangs in my office to remind me: even a pipe is only the perception of a thought. Art's challenge—and its joy—lies in capturing these perceptions.

Journey Through Loss

Life is full of transitions. Journeys through loss—whether personal or shared—are intimate, nonlinear passages that reshape our understanding of reality. Loss confronts us with fragility, impermanence, and mystery. And yet, within that fragility, we discover resilience, strength, and hope.

My art project Journey Through Loss is a visual exploration of this theme, informed by my own experiences and my work in vision rehabilitation. Developed over nearly a decade and realized in painting beginning in 2001, the series represents a deeply personal process of expression, discovery, and celebration.

Artistic Choices and Symbols

Each element of the series is intentional:

• Glass surface – Expresses fragility and allows layering of paint on both sides, creating multidimensional perspective.
• Lack of frame – Illustrates vulnerability.
• Round shape – Reflects the edgeless, horizonless environment of a traveler who is blind.
• Eye symbol – Signifies both the physical eye and the self ("I").
• Bars – Represent perceived and real restrictions imposed by loss.
• Background color – A dark brownish-gray conveys the color of blindness as I perceive it.
• White cane – Symbolizes the traveler navigating the journey.
• Gold-colored hardware – Affirms the preciousness of the journey.

Symbolic elements used in the Journey Through Loss painting series

The Process

The Journey Through Loss series began with years of conceptual work before I ever picked up a brush. With the guidance of my friend, artist Hannah Burr—who taught me painting techniques and embraced my vision—we developed practical systems to bring my concepts to life. Together, we adapted brushes, paints, and tools to make the process accessible and expressive.

The process was as meaningful as the finished pieces. I recall beginning a painting of a mountain that had dominated my childhood. Brush in hand, I froze—overwhelmed by the enormity of capturing its majesty. After setting the brush down in awe, I resumed with a single small stroke. That unrepeatable gesture became the seed of the entire mountain. Fleeting yet foundational, it reminded me of the soul of the mountain and the ephemeral nature of creation itself. Like a single drop of water in the ocean—without which the ocean would never begin.

Reflections from Medellín

In my 2006 exhibition at the Centro Colombo Americano in Medellín, Colombia, I witnessed how art can give voice to struggle. A young woman, recently disabled by progressive vision loss, used my painting Stepping Off to express her fears to her loving but frustrated family. They were concerned about her disability, but equally distressed by their inability to help. She was overwhelmed by the wide-reaching impact on her daily life and struggled to articulate the cumulative weight of her loss.

Her family understood her situation intellectually but couldn't fully grasp the emotional reality. They minimized the impact, suggesting that training or technology would resolve the challenges. A gap grew between her experience and theirs—a gap that often widens over time, causing emotional and physical drift.

After hearing me speak about Stepping Off, she shared its meaning in her own words with her family. The painting became a bridge—a shared language for expressing fear, grief, and hope.

Excerpts from My Presentation

"A dark brownish-gray color covers the entire background of the round 15" glass.

Blindness is not colorless—it is not the absence of color.

Different eye conditions manifest in different shapes and shades.

This dark color is the color of blindness as I perceive it. It dominates the background—the state of mind, if you will."

"A caricature of steps begins in the upper left quadrant and drops off precipitously at the center.

The final step trails downward, ending before the edge.

The tip of a white cane touches the edge of that last step, as if someone is descending.

We do not see the cane user."

"The next step is unknown.

It could be another step, a puddle of water, a pile of dried leaves—or a drop into the abyss.

The cane user senses only what the tip touches.

There is nothing else to hold onto.

Nothing visible. Nothing graspable."

Detailed description of the Stepping Off painting and its symbolic meaning

This painting depicts a metaphoric moment we all face: the decision point after a life crisis. What do we do next, when the path ahead is uncertain?

Helen's Leap of Faith

Helen came to see me one afternoon, tears streaming as she recounted her first street-crossing lesson since losing her vision. Yes, she feared physical harm—but even more, she feared stepping into the unknown. In that moment, Helen wasn't just crossing a street. She was crossing into the rest of her life—leaving behind familiar despair and searching desperately for hope.

She didn't know what lay ahead. But she knew she couldn't remain at the metaphoric curb forever. That first step was a leap of faith.

Closing Reflections

For me, painting is both outlet and dialogue—playful yet profound, rooted in memory yet full of discovery. It is inseparable from my personal and professional journey through blindness, rehabilitation, and the search for meaning in loss.

The journey of rehabilitation—like the journey through art—is not linear. It shifts, repeats, and deepens over time. Together, these journeys form a fabric that reveals who we are: fragile yet resilient, vulnerable yet strong, bound by loss yet liberated through creative expression.

In Medellín, the young woman's family was transformed by the painting. Stepping Off helped her articulate her fears and hopes. Vision loss became more than the absence of sight—it became a shared experience. The white cane was no longer a symbol of limitation, but a tool of empowerment. Art opened a conversation, created understanding, and gave voice to the invisible.