A slow journal of art, healing, and everyday beauty
The new year often begins with pressure to become, to improve, to hustle. We’re flooded with resolutions, goal-setting, and the subtle belief that who we are now is not enough.
But this year, I’m beginning differently.
Not with a list.
Not with urgency.
But with a quiet return to self.
I didn’t always paint like this.
There was a time when I believed I had to get it right. That art had to be clear, representational, perfectly formed. That people needed to understand what they were looking at, or it didn’t count. That’s what I thought art was.
Until one day, it wasn’t enough.
I’ve always known I was creative.
Even as a child, I was building, crafting, painting, finding joy in creating with my hands. That was my happiest place. Not because anyone told me it mattered, but because something in me needed to create. It was never about learning to be an artist. It was always about remembering that I already was.
