I didn’t become an artist in a classroom or through some carefully planned path. I started painting in 2008 because I was drowning in grief after losing my baby, and I needed something — anything — to keep me from collapsing under the weight of it. Art wasn’t a hobby; it was survival. I sat alone with YouTube videos, teaching myself how to make something out of nothing, trying to breathe through the pain one brushstroke at a time.

Spray‑paint art was the first thing that grabbed me. It was messy, fast, unpredictable — everything I felt inside. Watching colors explode and settle into something beautiful gave me a sense of control when my life felt shattered. That raw energy pulled me forward, and eventually I found my way to oil paint and portraiture.

Memorial portraits became the heart of my work. I know what it means to ache for someone you can’t hold anymore, and I carry that understanding into every piece I create. When I paint a face, I’m not just trying to get the features right. I’m trying to bring back a presence, a warmth, a moment that mattered. It’s emotional work, but it’s honest, and it’s where I feel most connected to people.

I also paint in abstract realism when I need to let emotion move without rules. Those pieces come from instinct — color, texture, movement — the things that don’t need to make sense to be true.

I’m self‑taught, shaped by loss, and driven by the belief that art can hold the things life takes away. My work is my way of remembering, healing, and honoring the stories people trust me with. It’s not perfect, but it’s real, and it’s mine.