Statement

Art found me when I was lost. In 2019, a brain injury abruptly ended my 25-year career as a nurse—the role that had given my life meaning and purpose. In an instant, the healer became the one in need of healing. The left side of my brain, the part that had navigated the logic and precision of medicine, was damaged, and I was left standing at the threshold of something completely foreign: the world of creativity. It was terrifying. But slowly, as I picked up a brush, something inside me stirred. What felt like an end became an invitation—a call to heal in a different way. Painting became my lifeline, a space where my body, soul, and mind could begin to mend. Each brushstroke is more than color on canvas; it’s a conversation between my fractured past and my present self, between pain and peace. Through this process, I connect deeply with the Divine, allowing something greater than me to guide my hand and fill the spaces I once thought were broken.

People often tell me my work feels both alive and calming, playful yet introspective. I think that’s because it holds all of me—the grief, the gratitude, the questions, and the quiet moments of grace. I paint not just to express, but to connect, to offer a space where others can see themselves reflected, where emotions can breathe and maybe even heal. My art is my heart on canvas, imperfect and honest, hoping to reach the hearts of others. It’s my way of still being a healer, just in a different form—inviting people into a world where beauty, pain and transformation coexist, and where, for a moment, they might feel a little less alone.