BEHIND THE START OF A SERIES
I wanted to take you behind the thoughts of when I begin a new series in my art journey.
Every new series begins with a feeling—a pull so strong it demands to be put onto canvas. Sometimes, that feeling is deep sadness, raw and heavy, pressing against my chest until I surrender to it with paint. Other times, it’s overwhelming joy, so expansive that my hands can’t move fast enough to capture it. It might come from a smile hearing a line in a movie. But whether I am painting from sorrow or elation, both emotions push me into creation, shaping my process in different but equally powerful ways.
When I start from sadness, my movements tend to be slower, more deliberate. Colors emerge from instinct—moody tones, neutral grays, or beige's that carry the weight of what I cannot fully express in words. I work in layers, often covering marks only to reveal them again later, much like emotions resurfacing when least expected. It’s a dance between hiding and exposing, a push and pull between pain and release.
Joy, on the other hand, brings urgency. The colors are bolder, the gestures freer, as if my hands are simply following a rhythm that already exists. There’s a lightness in the way I apply paint, allowing spontaneity to take the lead. These paintings often feel like movement captured mid-air—fleeting but full of life. No matter where I begin—whether at the peak of happiness or the depths of sorrow—what matters is that I show up to the canvas and allow the emotion to guide me.
Veiled Healing: The Pain Beneath
Series Thoughts: My mind cannot shut itself off, it paints all night in my dreams. While creating the series "A Silent Sentence is Spoken" this painting and perhaps another series came to me. I am not a person that allows my hurt to sit outward as I have learned to mask so well, but these paintings seem to keep revealing themselves to me.
Whether intentional or not, empaths infuse dreamed paintings into their work I tend to add personal symbols into my work—fractured lines for wounds, soft blending for comfort, unfinished edges for unresolved emotions. My intuition guides my brush, making my work deeply personal Veiled Healing: The Pain Beneath is a visual representation of wounds that once defined me, now softened and concealed beneath layers of white. In my life, the white is God’s protection. The nearly opaque surface speaks to the process of healing—how time, grace, prayer, and resilience begin to quiet the past. Yet, beneath this veil of light, the texture and depth of past scars remain subtly visible, refusing to be erased entirely.
Many times, the past reveals itself in conversations or memories. Healing does not mean forgetting; it means carrying the past in a way that no longer controls us. God can do that.The act of nearly covering the painting with white is deliberate—a symbolic gesture of protection, renewal, and healing. But the underlying textures refuse to be silenced, just as pain never fully disappears. Instead, it transforms.
If you look closely, you’ll see glimpses of color, raw marks, and remnants of the past pushing through. This is the tension between suffering and restoration, between the urge to cover pain and the realization that true healing comes from acknowledging it.This piece is not about erasure but about acceptance. The scars remain part of the story, but they are no longer the focal point. Instead, the white acts as a gentle embrace, a softening of what once felt unbearable.
Veiled Healing: The Pain Beneath invites the viewer to reflect on their own journey—on the beauty found in healing, on the resilience within scars, and on the quiet strength of moving forward.
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