My story.

I've been making art for as long as I can remember. As a kid, I sketched self-portraits, designed clothes, sculpted, painted, and put on very dramatic musical performances for my family. My aunt was a sculptor and sketch artist, and she was one of the first people to encourage me to take that creative part of myself seriously.

Art became something deeper after I was diagnosed with cancer in early adulthood. I was suddenly dealing with fear, anger, uncertainty, and questions I wasn't prepared to ask at that age. Painting gave those feelings somewhere to go. I didn't have to make them sound reasonable or explain them neatly. I could just put them on a canvas.

More recently, I have found myself starting over again. Life took a turn I didn't plan for, and it changed the future I thought I was building. I'm still in the middle of rebuilding. Some days feel hopeful and others are simply about getting through what is in front of us.

Painting has once again become a place where I can be completely honest. It helps me work through grief, anger, relief, fear, and the strange experience of discovering joy again while I'm still healing. It also reminds me that I am more than the hardest things that have happened to me.

Nature has always helped me come back to myself. I'm especially drawn to water and the way it is never truly still. I notice it in ocean tides, swimming in a lake, kayaking between trees, West Coast sunsets, and East Coast sunrises. Those experiences stay with me when I paint. They show up in the movement of the materials, the layers of color, and the way one part of a piece flows into another.

My paintings are usually bold, textured, and emotionally direct.

I make art because I need to. It has carried me through illness, motherhood, loss, and rebuilding. Sharing it is my way of turning those experiences into something another person can see, feel, and perhaps recognize in themselves.