For this month’s newsletter, I want to share something a little different.

Recently, I’ve been getting a lot of questions from visitors, especially young artists, about how I got into art and how long I’ve been making it. On the surface, these are pretty normal questions that I’ve been asked for years, and people usually ask out of pure curiosity. But when young artists ask, I think they’re often trying to understand how they might also pursue a career as a full-time professional artist.

I typically answer with, “I started painting in 2013, three months before graduating college, and then opened the gallery in 2015.”

And every time, the person asking is shocked by how quickly that transition happened.

But for this newsletter, I wanted to go a little deeper and explain how art kind of just fell into my life. It wasn’t a childhood passion or a lifelong dream. In fact, my story with art really begins with something completely different.

Growing up, I was extremely involved in sports, with baseball and basketball being my two main passions. I just knew I’d grow up working in the sports world, either by fulfilling my ultimate dream of becoming a professional athlete or, if that didn’t happen, working in sports through coaching, sports therapy, or a professional organization. Sports were all I dreamed about until 2005, when everything in my life changed.

***Arbutus Little League, circa 1997-1999***

In August 2005, my father died after a short, 18-month battle with ALS (amyotrophic lateral sclerosis), also known as Lou Gehrig’s disease. If you’re unfamiliar with Lou Gehrig, he was a Hall of Fame baseball player for the New York Yankees and one of the most well-known public figures diagnosed with ALS in 1939.

The irony is that even in tragedy, sports still had an influence on my life.

Today, in 2026, ALS is more widely recognized, in part thanks to the viral Ice Bucket Challenge, which helped raise money for research and bring awareness to the disease. Back in 2005, however, ALS was relatively unknown to the average person. Treatment options were limited, and my father’s 18 months between diagnosis and his passing are a painful reminder of just how devastating the disease can be.

Losing my father changed me in ways I didn’t fully understand at the time. I feel like I lost so much of myself in that moment. The innocence of being a kid with big dreams seemed to disappear almost overnight. I continued playing sports, but the passion I once had was slowly slipping away.

My junior year of high school started just two weeks after my father died. I was mourning, confused, and struggling to make sense of everything. When basketball season approached that November, I remember telling my mother I wasn’t going to play. She knew I wasn’t okay, and thankfully, she didn’t let me give up on something that had always been such a big part of my life.

I continued playing basketball throughout high school and even played during my freshman year of college. But baseball was different.

Baseball had always been our family sport. We had Baltimore Orioles season tickets, my parents loved the game, and my brother played, too. Basketball was something that was uniquely mine, but baseball was something we shared as a family. Playing it made me miss my father even more, so during my senior year of high school, I quit baseball and ran outdoor track instead. Looking back, I think part of that decision was an act of rebellion. I was good at baseball, and I still loved it, but the memories attached to it had become too painful.

And even though I continued playing basketball for a while, eventually, that passion faded, too.

The thing I’d grown up loving and imagined building my future around had become a source of pain. And without it, I felt lost. I’d lost my passion, and I had no idea what would replace it.

From 2005 to 2013, I struggled to find a sense of purpose while continuing to grieve my father. I also found myself yearning for a connection to him. Some of my last memories were shaped by how severely ALS affected him and what it was like watching someone you love go through that. I wanted a way to reconnect with the person he was before the disease took so much away.

Then, in February 2013, something changed.

I picked up some art supplies and started painting just for fun. I had no plans to become an artist. I was simply trying something new.

***John E Winkel Jr. Self-portrait, circa 1981-1983. (He drew this side view portrait while in high school)***

But I remember that night feeling a sense of peace come over me, almost as if my father was telling me, “It’s okay. You can move on and live your life.”

And in that moment, I felt the grief finally begin to lift.

You see, my father was an artist himself, and my earliest exposure to art came from watching him create. I never explored art as a child, but I was always fascinated by his skills. Whether he was drawing characters from my favorite cartoons, painting crab shells for my grandmother and aunts’ craft store, or making sand sculptures whenever we went to the beach, I always admired his creativity.

***John E Winkel Jr, working on a sand sculpture at the beach.***

Looking back, I think that connection had been there all along. I just hadn’t discovered it for myself yet.

But that night in February 2013 changed my life. Art became the connection to my father that I’d been yearning for over the previous eight years, but it also became something entirely my own. Painting gave me a sense of peace I’d been missing for years. It gave me a feeling I hadn’t experienced since playing sports. It gave me purpose again.

I was so frustrated with myself for having given up on something I’d once loved so much that I made a promise to myself: “If I ever get the opportunity to find another passion, I will run through that door.”

That’s exactly what I did.

***John E. Winkel Jr & Dog. Self Portrait Photograph, circa 1981-1983. (Taken during a high school photography class)***

My personality has always been to go all in on everything I commit to. The moment I realized I was falling in love with art, I decided to pursue it. I didn’t have a background in the art world or a clear roadmap for what came next. But I had found something that made me excited about life again, and I wasn’t going to let that opportunity pass me by.

Just two years later, in May 2015, I opened WINKEL GALLERY.

I had no artist friends, no real knowledge of the art world, and zero experience running a gallery. But I had passion, confidence, and determination. Most importantly, I had a dream again.

I don’t take this career for granted. Art helped me work through my grief, reconnect with my father in a way I never expected, and discover a new passion that has shaped the last decade of my life.

***This is a quick pastel sketch I did in 2024 to celebrate my dad’s 60th birthday and honor his own sketch. The piece is based on his self-portrait and the photo above.***

When I think about why I make art today, I come back to that feeling I experienced the first night I picked up a paintbrush. That sense of peace, excitement, and possibility is something I want others to experience through my work, too.

I hope sharing this story gives you a better understanding of my art practice and what inspires me. Ultimately, I want my art to bring joy to people, create meaningful connections, and offer a sense of healing to anyone who needs it, the same way it did for me.

With love,

Justin