I started painting when my world tilted, when the ground I thought was solid felt suddenly fragile. Life whispered its limits, made me confront the idea that I wasn’t untouchable. Interiors had been my refuge—orderly, curated, safe—but it wasn’t mine. I needed something that could survive me, something that could hold my voice when the world felt uncertain.

Meeting Julia Green from Greenhouse Interiors lit a fire in me I hadn’t dared to strike. Her belief in me gave direction to the chaos, a reason to leap fully into the unknown. From there, my work began to reach beyond the studio walls—finding a place in public spaces through major art ventures and appearing in magazines I once only admired from afar. It has been surreal, humbling, and deeply affirming, but recognition was never the reason I began.

I paint for my daughters. Every mark, every stroke, is for them—a trace of love, a proof that we can endure, a legacy they will inherit. My art is my voice, my defiance, my way of saying: I was here, I fought, I loved. Even in precarious moments, beauty can remain.

I’m so happy to be here—to still be here—creating, growing, watching my girls grow beside me. And I’m excited for what lies ahead: the stories yet to unfold on canvas, the unexpected paths, the quiet magic of not knowing exactly where life will lead next.

Because in the end, this journey was never just about art. It was about leaving something meaningful behind—and discovering, along the way, just how much there is still to live for.