In my family, I’ve always been known as the creative one - ever since I was old enough to hold a crayon. For years art was how I measured my worth. If someone loved what I made, I matered. If they hesitated at all before giving a response, I too it as proof that I wasn’t good at art, or anything else, really.

My creative drive has alway been there, but it came from a desparate please of “accept me, love me”. Somewhere, along the way, that changed. My faith deepened, and I began to see creativity as a conversation with with God. An exchange of grace, color and healing. My art becaseme a way to reflect the beauty He brings out of brokeness.

Now I create from love instead of survival. Painting is how I process life - how I quiet the noise in my head and turn the chaos into color. My work is vibrant, raw and vulnerable. A record of healing and proof that even broken things can bloom.

When someone connects with my art, I hope they feel seen, understood, maybe even a little lighter. My art isn’t made to match the curtains, It’s meant to speak - to stir - to heal.