a BODY OF WORK BUILT FROM STAYING
Each piece in this collection is a map of something felt and survived. Browse freely. Let what stirs in you, stir. Check me out on socials to see more examples of my work.
THE COLLECTION
"The Pull" You know this feeling. The moment when something gets its grip on you and everything starts moving too fast — thoughts, emotions, memories — all of it spiraling inward whether you want it to or not. That is what this painting is. Not a depiction of chaos. An experience of it. Deep teal sweeps in bold urgent strokes around a center of raw magenta and crimson — pulling your eye inward, deeper, until you find the single dark point at the heart of it all. Still. Quiet. Holding everything together. The Pull does not ask for your attention. It takes it. This piece belongs to someone who knows what it feels like to be in the middle of something overwhelming — and who has learned that even in the spiral, there is a center that holds.
"Becoming" It does not happen all at once. Becoming is slow. It is layered. It is a thousand small shapes finding their way toward something larger — each one distinct, each one necessary, each one part of a whole that could not exist without every single piece of it. That is what this painting is. Hundreds of forms — teardrop, petal, leaf — flow into and around each other across a deep black canvas, shifting from rich purple at the edges into teal, aqua, and ice blue at the heart. Bold black lines hold each shape with intention while the color beneath breathes and moves like something alive. Like something in the process of arriving. Stand close and you see the detail — every curve, every layer, every deliberate mark. Step back and you see the whole — a garden, a river, a life taking shape in real time. This painting belongs to someone in the middle of their own becoming. Someone who is not who they were and not yet who they will be — and who is learning to find beauty in exactly that.
"All Still Spinning" You are not the only one. That is what this painting says. Not quietly — boldly, in electric cyan and midnight blue, across every inch of the canvas. Dozens of spirals bloom like roses in the dark, each one turning inward toward its own center, each one luminous, each one alive. None of them the same. All of them spinning. Just like us. There is something profound about realizing that the feeling you thought was yours alone — the overwhelm, the turning, the sense of everything moving too fast — is actually something we all carry. That we are all out here spinning in the dark, glowing in ways we don't even know, finding our centers over and over again. This painting is for the ones who needed to know they are not alone in it. For the ones who are still spinning and still here — and who have learned that those two things can be true at the same time. Hang this somewhere you need to remember. You will never look at it the same way twice.
"From There to Here" This is what the journey looks like. At the top — raw magenta, dark and urgent, spirals tangled and heavy, paint dripping down like something that couldn't be held back any longer. The kind of feeling that takes over before you have words for it. The place where it all begins. Then something shifts. Through the middle the colors wrestle — magenta giving way to deep purple, chaos finding its edges, the spirals growing slower and more deliberate. This is the part nobody talks about. The in-between. The place where you are no longer where you were but not yet where you are going. And then — teal. Open, electric, luminous. Spirals that breathe instead of race. Color that feels like exhaling. Like arriving. Like standing somewhere solid and looking back at how far you came. From There to Here is a large statement piece that commands every room it enters. It is for someone who has made a journey — through something hard, through something that changed them — and who wants to hang the proof of it on their wall. You made it. This painting knows.
"The Garden Beneath" Not everything that grows announces itself. Some things bloom in the dark, beneath the surface, in the deep and quiet places where no one is watching. Slowly. Stubbornly. Beautifully. This painting is about those things. Deep purple and soft lavender wash across the canvas like soil after rain — layered, textured, alive with what is happening underneath. Spirals emerge at every depth, some dark and heavy and still finding their way, others glowing electric teal as though they have finally broken through to the light. Each one at a different stage. Each one becoming. Look closely and you will find the texture — the buildup of layers, the marks of a brush that kept coming back, the evidence of a painting that was worked and reworked until it told the truth. That is what a garden does. It does not arrive all at once. It returns, season after season, until something finally blooms. This painting belongs to someone who knows that the most important growth happens where nobody sees it. Someone who has been tending something quietly and is ready to watch it come to the surface. Your garden is growing. This painting knows.
"Everything At Once"' This is what joy looks like when it finally has enough room. Hot pink and magenta rise from the bottom like something that has been waiting to bloom. Purple deepens into blue, blue opens into teal, teal breaks into green, green catches fire in yellow and orange until the whole canvas is alive with every color that exists — each one distinct, each one necessary, each one held together by bold black lines that say: this is allowed to be this much. Look closely and you will find spiral brushwork living inside every single petal — movement within movement, energy within energy. This painting does not sit still. It never will. Everything at Once is the piece that changes a room the moment it enters. It is not subtle. It does not ask permission. It arrives and it fills the space with the kind of color that reminds you what it feels like to be fully, completely alive. This painting is for someone who has spent time in the dark and is ready — truly ready — to let everything in. All the color. All the feeling. All of it, all at once.