Oysters, Darling: A Love Letter to the Saltiest Muse

There are some who see an oyster and think: slimy. Briny. Best left to the brave or the bougie.
And then there are the rest of us—the ones who understand that the oyster is not food, but ritual. Not appetizer, but art. The oyster is elegance in its most feral form: raw, cold, unapologetically wet.

From Roman feasts to Parisian cafés, oysters have always been a symbol of indulgence for the few who dare to enjoy them raw and unapologetic. The oyster is patience, transformation, and hidden treasure. It begins as irritation and ends in pearls.

I’ve been enamored with oysters for as long as I’ve been drawn to anything a little over-the-top. They're decadent, dramatic, textural, and often controversial—much like my favorite paintings. They glisten like gemstones but smell like low tide. They invite lemon, mignonette, hot sauce, even pearls. They are messy perfection. And they are, without a doubt, my favorite thing to paint.

In my oyster works (Sunday 2PM and Put a Little Mignonette on That Bad Boy), I wanted to capture not just the food itself, but the scene—a tableau of indulgence. A jeweled hand. A plate full of glistening shells. Sunshine lemons. Hushed gossip. The kind of moment that lives somewhere between a brunch and a bacchanal.

Because for me, oysters aren’t just a subject. They’re a lifestyle. An aesthetic. A challenge to minimalism.

They represent the kind of luxury I love most: the quiet, sensual kind you have to acquire a taste for. And once you do, you're ruined for life. In the best way.

So this is my love letter to the oyster—salty seductress, muse of still life, and symbol of everything a little unruly and a lot irresistible.

Curious?
Come get a closer look: [Shop the Oyster Paintings]
Or just take a scroll and decide whether you’d rather slurp one or hang one on your wall. No judgment either way.