How do you know when something is finished? This painting led me back to that question, and to the surprising ways it connects to intuition, trust, and knowing when to stop. I am still figuring it out.

What happens when you stop trying to make something specific? This piece became a doorway, a rabbit, and a woman – all at once – depending on who was looking. What do you see?

This piece, Scales of Fire, is going to someone I love, which makes it even more meaningful. I got to deliver it in person and see it in its new home. Grateful for this moment and everything it represents. ❤️

This piece sat unfinished for nine months while I debated what it needed. When I finally returned to it, the answer felt simple—and right. Inspired by a painting and a deeply moving story shared by a stranger, this work became something more than texture and color. It became a reflection on strength, fragility, and the quiet ways love takes root and stays with us.

I started this painting with a clear plan—and almost ruined it within minutes. What followed was a complete change in direction, and a reminder that sometimes the best thing you can do is let go of the original idea.

Sometimes the hardest part of creating isn’t the technique—it’s beginning. This is my first botanical painting using a large four-inch brush—something that felt both exciting and intimidating to begin.

An experimental painting process using kitchen tools, monster trucks, and glow-in-the-dark stars that slowly revealed a lion hidden in the layers of paint.

An experiment in layers, reflection, and unexpected outcomes

An experiment in layers, lemons, and learning to let go.