60x72
Acrylic on Canvas

The warm, light-soaked spot in your home where the full radiance of the sun is unmuted, even on a cold day. The place you go to be in your light. The flow where time stops and magic ensues. Come on over, there's plenty of light to share. I don't know where its leading, but I sure am gonna follow.

60x48
Acrylic on Canvas

Making room for only that which sparks joy. For the people, the things, the habits you choose to surround yourself with. Never too much, or too little when curated for you alone. Appreciating and enjoying what you have, their details, the joy they spark in you, the joy you spark in others.

36x36
Acrylic and Gouache on Canvas

Peering down a long tunnel may give us the scaries for what’s to come, for the unknown, for a plan we can’t be certain will pan out. But we arrive at each gateway, a milepost revealing we’re farther along the path than we thought, that what seemed dark and confined before, is now open and filled with light. Along the way we discover friends, or even strangers, with open arms and steady footing, to propel us forward. A posse to keep us poised.

72x60
Acrylic on Canvas

"They'll never take us seriously, Sal, I mean just take a whiff!"

"Come now Sam, they will! We're better than this. We can help ourselves."

"Seriously tho, Sal, this game is notoriously difficult."

"Yes, Sam, life always is, but we just gotta play. Give it our best. Catch that magic, that beauty."

"We got this, we got this Sal, the sweet smell of success!"

Original Available

72x60
Acrylic on Canvas

We were born in the desert. Our dreams wriggling in the sand beneath curious toes. Hot on the surface but cool within the earth. Wishes rising up full of heat, circling as tiny grains of sand brush your skin, abrasive but smoothing the surface. A call to adventure, a trek, uphill and against the wind, to let our truth take flight. Never abandoning our desert but surveying the vastness of our capabilities.

36x36
Acrylic on Canvas

I closed my eyes and drew for you. I drew the paths our leaps would take on the trampoline we saved our allowance to get. I drew the way our conversations about art sound and feel. I drew the curves and waves of your path upon my heart.

Curving, meandering, free. How you move with the eyes of your soul. The path often unplanned, but the compass in tune. Your present motion, present emotion begetting a depth of discovery.

Your suns, the squares, loosely holding you while you explore and feel. Their arms cradling you while your heart stretches out.

Seeking, learning, feeling, observing. It all. It all kindling to burn layers past, the dark that will not last, to shed what no longer is you, to color in only the true.

You move towards lighter and clearer skies. Towards essence, towards an internal source of power, that you later reflect out. The beacon on a mountain, the calm in a storm, the hope in the abyss.

In your mirror, I peer, and see what’s clear. Our truths reflected, life’s pains deflected, my soul affected. Judgement erased, curiosity in its place.

Lollipop, you call me, like the way you make me feel. Childlike and playful, nostalgic and sweet. Supported, but with the swirl of color and creativity.

When I look in the eyes of our Batman’s skies, I see more than the blue. Floating and flying while rooted and thriving. Creating while being created.

Our Lollipop Skies.

30x40
Acrylic on Canvas

What beckons him up the staircase? His curiosity? His intuition, his compass? What will he find when he gets there? Not promised riches nor reward. Only the satisfaction of a curiosity explored, the confidence of embodying his presence, the thrill of being open to the path.

25x31
Acrylic on Canvas

Hidden to me, truth travels off-site
Each new approach meets with reproach
Raised voices project
Berating, a balm
Validation vacillates
Looking externally for internal calm

But come what may of the rain,
I no longer engage in pain
Each fall not a fail,
a beckon to prevail
Each trigger an invite to truth

Respect relinquishes the forerunner of fear
The ties that bind untangle
No shortcuts to sight
I replace the fight with light

A lens self-prescribed
38 years, but perfect in time

36x36
Acrylic and Resin on Canvas

She tried to translate to child ears the meaning behind her favorite saying. To find a way to convey the adage she lived by. The saying taught to her as a child by her Croatian elders. Patience, she told me. It means to be patient, to wait; to keep working but to trust it’s going to work out.

In practice, she’d readily admit, it was hard to come by. I watched as her patience waned when it came to the minor things. But always, as if reserved and stored for winter as she’d practiced on her childhood farm, there it appeared. Alive and ready to thrive for the major things, as she’d patiently watch the universe grow, to wow yet again.

It became a game, to observe the course it would take, never the same as her wish, but the result somehow better. Every time met by a major roadblock, threatening to shake her belief in the possible, she adjusted the path but never the wish. The roadblock consistently delivering greater beauty, a grander prize.

Tiha Voda she would whisper to my adult ears, knowing finally I would understand. Tiha Voda Brege Dere she uttered in her beautiful accent - Slow Water Breaks Mountains.

She says it calmly and with certainty when I drop my calamities at her feet. She gently taps my arm as she hums it when I air my grievances. When I hold minimal patience, she trusts in infinite magic. You have to work, you can’t give up, you don’t half ass your dreams, Mom reminds, but also you wait, you let go, you trust.

We climb the mountain while also awaiting the water. Movement, slowly. Progress, surely.

Tiha Voda.

36x36
Acrylic, Chalk and Thread on Canvas

I picked up my phone and started playing his songs. Songs that were never the focus of remembered childhood scenes, but played in the background. Sounds that amplify a memory, that years later give it an anchor point to come back to. As I honed in on one song, another would come to mind. I listened fully to song after song as I drove for hours on end. I began noting internally the way they made me feel, the memories they evoked, until I knew it was time to begin.

I allowed myself complete freedom to explore, to pursue the canvas head on, without planning, without measuring, without my finely crafted borders and clean edges. It wasn’t necessary. It wasn’t the goal. Instead, to spend the entirety of the creation of this piece meditating on my father, his life, mine, of our roles in one another’s. How pivotal, how key to one another’s identity and self-worth. How for so many years we mirrored each other, how I grew to follow his path, and later to take timid but hopeful, risky but calculated footsteps down an alternate lane.

As I worked his songs played for me.

The song that played in the first movie we saw together.

The song we danced to at my wedding.

The song that reminded him of the kind of father he didn’t want to be.

The song that reminded me of the kind of daughter I wanted to be.

The song that played when I’d watch him smile playfully at my mom, with an ease and weightless care like I imagined he did when they first met, unable to even speak one another’s languages.

The song I’d play after he grounded me.

The song that played as he drove me to a sleepover, the lyrics muffled to his ears but clearly in tune with my teenage heart.

The song that makes me think everything will be ok, even when its currently not.

The song that played when he took me to visit a potential college, willing to help me explore even though it was the furthest one from home.

The song that played at our first concert together.

The song that inspired his nickname for me, and that years later I’d sing to rock my son to sleep.

As their words flowed onto the canvas, I sat in their sound, in the sounds it would create in my chest, often at bat with the sounds in my head. Memories of a beautiful sweet childhood. Memories of misunderstandings or miscommunication when childhood shifted to adolescence shifted to adulthood. How the music now softened these misunderstandings, how time and experience made way for perspective, how independence made clear the interdependence.

As they hummed, I tuned into the realization that life can be painfully short, and regrets long lived. That operating on defense by default ends the game before it begins. That forgiveness of others allows you to forgive the one worth forgiving most. That the uncomfortable memories pour down less when compassion reigns. That barriers were not meant to block the path, but to make way for a new one.

The words in the songs, the words upon the canvas, stirring up my own - to say aloud where I hold fear, where I need grace, where I need help to hold space.

To make it clearly known a beloved will always be loved, that good memories triumph, that effort will always be seen, and intention always felt.

Bound by a never ending pursuit of love and respect, of understanding and acceptance, of effort and letting go.

These are the ties that bind us.

48x48
Acrylic on Canvas

The thing is, little guy, you've been clinging to that same ol' nutty way of doing things, for years now. Would you consider a step out of your comfy zone, to shift that gaze just a bit? To loosen your grasp on the known, the predictable, the expected. You might just discover something magical down the path. You donut have anything to fear.

60x48
Acrylic on Canvas

The sweet boy threw some bread in my pond, and I was overjoyed. But then he was gone. I wonder when he'll be back. I wonder if he'll bring more. I wonder if I'll get the first bite.

But hold up. Really I wonder, how can I help myself? I can figure this out. There must be a way. I'll search. I'll explore. I'll overcome any obstacles to get there. The journey will fuel me. I don't know exactly what I'm looking for, but I'll know it when I see it. My eyes are open. My heart is wide. I'm prepared to be amazed. To welcome abundance. I wonder what I'll find along the way.

Acrylic on Canvas
40 x 30

Somewhere along the line I got the phrase wrong.

Telling children, advising friends, “don’t get your hopes up”. Don’t count your chickens before they hatch. Don’t get ahead of yourself.

Does that ease the pain when we fall short? Soften the blow when things don’t work out?

I no longer subscribe.

Do get your hopes up.

Can I believe I’m the kind of person that can have my wish? What will I feel like when I become that person? Can I grant myself permission to go ahead and be that person?

To be congruent with my request, in alignment with the energy of my wish. Not in attachment to the outcome, but to it’s possibility. A refreshing place from which to ask and act, trusting the answer is already yes.

Messages no longer mixed, future now present, wish into reality.

I do get my hopes up now. Anything I ask for is possible.

I already am it. I already have it.

72 x 48 Triptych
Acrylic on Canvas

Your inner compass guiding the way, invisible arrows pointing your heart towards greater challenges but within that, greater truth, greater purpose, greater happiness.

Shed the skin, the identities, the fears that no longer serve you and weave the story of your desires, the story that reveals your light.

48x36
Acrylic on Canvas

Saturday morning cartoons with a bowl of sugary cereal before heading outdoors, running breathlessly but always saving one for a spin of the pinwheel.

No thoughts of straight and narrow, black and white, point A to point B.

Im heading back to the paths we ran in the backyard. Curving, winding, with no direction except upwards and towards Joy.

To taste of what we're Lucky enough to call a Charmed life.

48x48
Acrylic on Canvas

Can’t contain that kaboom! That state of mind. The thump thump of your heart when eyes lock with love. The orchestra in your head when synchronicity explodes. The pit in your stomach when passion’s pursued. The pure gratitude when the mind turns good into great.

24x30
Acrylic on Canvas

To light up our heart, our life, our purpose, our fears and challenges; to bring light to the dark corners. To bathe it all in neon.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

31x41
Acrylic on Canvas

I recently read - experienced rather - the succinct and very dense book - The Untethered Soul. I sat down with my journal to try to summarize, to whittle down it’s overwhelmingly universal perspective, but I found myself - and again find so here writing today - without the words.

So I painted it. What this perspective looks like to me. What I want to remember, and remind myself of consistently and constantly.

That I - my being, my essence, my self, my spirit, my soul, my source - am so much more than anything around me that occurs. More than the feelings, more than the thoughts, more than all the senses, more than all the things that pass before me at any given moment.

I am the consciousness, the awareness.

When thoughts overwhelm me - I am not these thoughts; I am the one observing these thoughts.

When emotions flood me - I am not the emotions; I am the one experiencing these emotions.

When senses of the outside world overpower - I am not these senses, I am the one noticing these senses.

I’m finding this is giving a much needed layer of distance, a moment of separation from the things that feel all too fixed, real, solid. A moment to remember, I am the one forming my reality. I am the one who can regain her seat within, securely centered in awareness and consciousness.

And in that consciousness, in that ever-accessible seat, I am not only part of the universe, the universe is part of me.
In that space within, I am always whole, clear, calm, true;
without judgement, without shame, without fear.
In that space within, I am pure love, pure light, pure expanding energy.

In that space within, the universe resides.

To see the process and read the full story behind this work visit Art Letters

48x30
Acrylic on Canvas

It’s words of strength that are lauded, the pursuit to grow strong, to weather storms and emerge stronger, mightier, hardened. What if we also gave weight to what we don’t proudly reveal, the lighter, often considered weaker parts of ourselves?

The word - the definition of my name, Mione - beckoning you to judge it, to assign it a connotation, a worthiness or lack thereof; to quickly determine if its a word of strength or weakness. To ponder, why a seemingly light word was given prominence, pride of place? Perhaps the anti-affirmation - a reminder of this delicate balance, our own delicate nature, our mind strong but human, fragile but taught to be something quite opposite. Survival of the fittest, the strongest - or perhaps instead, those in tune, listening, absorbing, considering, observant of details, of the smalls - so that action can be thoughtfully considered.

The bubbles, their flight, always changing. Each day a delicate bubble, on the verge of popping. The weight of this situation, this time, these global challenges, contrasted with the weightless ease of childhood games and play.

No rhyme or rhythm or reason to the dance - the configuration of bubbles - a single moment captured in their flight, perhaps moments before some pop. Even the notion of their pop creating a sensation of something released, transformed, let go of.

We say ‘don’t burst my bubble.’ But perhaps I should burst my own. The ones I’ve been carrying that are now just clouding my sky. The ones that in a new world, no longer fit. To leave it be.

The acknowledgement of our well being, our health - as delicate. That once acknowledged, brought to light, can be given strength. To admit that today I am not OK, I am not coping, I do not see the light. To, for a moment, abandon strength, or our desire to manifest it in its absence - to bring to light our delicate thoughts and fears, and in doing so, transform them to something of power and weight. To let our honesty shine.

36x36
Oil and Acrylic on Wood Panel

I began researching signs of an over-tidier. I started watching myself at home.

Can I go from point A to B, without pausing to put something back in its place? A place for everything and everything in its place.

But this is how I create a calm and peaceful environment for me and my family, I justified. Their look tells me otherwise.

Maybe it’s just for me. My reset, my order, my perfectionist path to calm. But why doesn’t it feel calm anymore?

What’s underneath coming up for air? What is perfectionism my mask for?

If I’m perfect, I can never be hurt.

A child’s logic lingering through adulthood. The sleeves of a coping mechanism now much too short.

A desire to please, to be good. A yearning to become emotionally safe.

It’s enough now. Now, I know I am good; good enough. Great enough. Perfectionism no longer the cure, no longer the problem. I, no longer the problem.

Instead, I become the advocate my child self wanted. Her champion, not with the power to stop the occurrence, but to remove herself from involvement.

To erect her castle of emotional safety. To dive out from the protected shores of perfectionism, into the swaying, soothing flow.

Happy, not perfect.
Safe, now serene.

36x36
Acrylic on Wood Panel

I’ve been studying and working with the concept of deconditioning the last few months. The idea that while there are areas of our being that are defined and fixed, there are also several areas of ourselves that are undefined and open. While these open areas can be a great gift, they are also more susceptible to conditioning - especially as children - which we then carry with us throughout our lives.

To decondition is to recognize and eventually let go of the conditioning we’ve received - that while perhaps useful to us in navigating our childhood and early independence - now may hinder or limit our true nature.

This reminded me very much of the role socially-prescribed perfectionism has played in my life.

What if I said yes to myself, even if it meant saying no to someone else?
What if I nudged my own preferences, needs, wants in line with those of others?
What if I didn’t take on the worries of others as my own?
What if I checked in on my inner child with the same frequency I checked in on others?

Would I be as valid?
Would I be as worthy of love?
Would I love myself less?
Might I learn to love and accept myself more?

Now a desire, a curiosity to dive not outwards, but inwards. A new depth revealed within as we slowly decondition to remove the layers of perfectionism - both self-oriented and socially-prescribed. Held by self love, respect. Our inner authority. Our source of love found in the one place we can always rely.

36x36
Acrylic on Canvas
Artist Collaboration featuring Jenny Grumbles and Mione Plant

If Care had a shape, what would it be? A shape flowing and curving, or broad and unbending?

Could Care be a triangle? Strong and not timid, her base a foundation of support. Pointing her child and herself towards exploration, towards beauty, towards truth.

The shape of Care both solid - filled with her presence and her nurture - and open - the spaces between allowing room to breathe, to play in pattern and color and texture.

Her shape the creative output fueled by the harmony of opposites - of light and dark, of solids and patterns, of structure and freedom, of plans and spontaneity, of challenge and ease, of right following wrong, of independence and interdependence, of motherhood and selfhood.

Her shape evolves beyond the singular facet of motherhood, towards a union of all the identities that light her up; a complete and multifaceted gem.

We are the shape of Care.

- Mione Plant

My work = a direct representation of how I roll. Quick strokes. Not bothering to think through any potential negative consequence. Grasping for light, and the brightest colors possible. Drowning out silence, trying to ignore any sadness.

I love painting children, meaningful memories, candid moments with tons of light. I search for those moments all day. I’m a feel good person. I want anything and everything that will make me feel joy.

Im a spaz with anxiety. I don’t like to turn towards the angst, so I use it as fuel to keep going - to paint hard, mom hard, and love hard.

Mione would ask, what is the shape of all that I just wrote? I would say a sunshine with zig zags and broken lines, and maybe a pink heart or two.

Making art with Mione Plant was just what I needed. It satisfied my obsession with finding joy, yet calmed my soul and made me turn towards my angst instead of cover it up and run. Her shapes are calculated. They are careful and calming. She makes you really think about it. She made my painting into the shape of the person I want to be for myself, my son, and the world. She is beautiful in a way that makes you cry.

I was just talking on the phone with a BFF about something hard in her life I had been through already. When we hung up she text me, “You’re the best. I can’t believe you don’t cry.” I don’t very often. Maybe “the shape of care” is eventually a teardrop.

If care was a shape, what would it be? Mione says maybe “it evolves beyond the singular facet of motherhood, towards a union of all the identities that light her up; a complete and multifaceted gem.”

- Jenny Grumbles

25x49
Acrylic on Linen, Cut and Woven, Mounted on Wood Panel

What would happen then when I ventured out to create about the six separate members in my family - including my family of origin and created family?

I asked each of the six members of my family - mom, dad, brother, husband, son, and myself - to pick a pattern they liked most from the book The Power of Pattern.

The patterns painted and strips cut, I could finally execute my vision of weaving the six patterns together. But then it all went to shit.The beautiful story in my mind of each person, each pattern overlapping and weaving seamlessly with one another crashed.

Nothing mixed and everything clashed. It felt chaotic and noisy. There wasn’t enough negative space or breathing room, especially given some of the bold personalities, I mean, patterns. I sat back and studied it. And then some more. I got out my journal, asking what it needed, why it wasn’t working? Why couldn’t I make this pattern fit better with that? Could I make yet another attempt? What could I fix to turn this into something beautiful in the end, something that made sense?

And then it hit. The need to orchestrate everyone’s patterns… Do I even have that kind of power? Or responsibility? Is it within my control? The only pattern I have control over is my own. How I choose to weave with the others.I walked over to the weaving, and gently removed my family’s patterns from the warp. I kept my own.

The wave of relief releasing responsibility of the other patterns, and focusing where my true responsibility lies. Suddenly (slo mo edition) it all came together.

To see the process and read the full story behind this work visit Art Letters

24x49
Acrylic on Linen, Woven and Mounted on Wood

In this work, the parents, represented and united in each vertical strand, stand as a central support. The patterns form a set of triangles – a symbol of strength. The mother’s pattern, displayed as the top triangle and the bottom triangle, symbolize both a foundation or root, and the canopy or shade.

The father’s pattern shown as the left and right triangles to me symbolize a boundary, protection, or safe arms around the family.

Both children interact and weave with each parent throughout the work. Rather than weaving the children’s patterns together, I chose to place them side by side. Always near one another. The negative space between their strands symbolizes room to explore, expand and grow into the people they wish to become; one day on a path independent from their parents, but always rooted in their foundation.

Perhaps my favorite detail about this work –
although each pattern was painted on different shapes and sizes of linen panels – the total area represented for each individual member of your family is of equal size.

60x36
Acrylic on Linen

Running into a friend at Starbucks, she asked what I was working on. “Nothing,” I exhaled. “I’m in this uncomfortable in-between. I've just finished a painting - which feels great - but now I really want to get started on something new, but I don’t know what it is.” Later, on her way out, she lovingly wished me energy to get out of my funk.

I realized this has happened before. In fact, every time. Each completed painting comes with a deep, soul-felt satisfaction, yet it’s followed soon after by a tension, an urge, a need to begin again. Normally, I don’t allow myself time to gather, or my ideas time to simmer. I get started right away. This however, is often followed by painting over days or even weeks’ worth of work, when the concept fails. When the idea isn’t done cooking yet.

What if I could get into my funk? What if I could embrace this awkward waiting stage, this negative space? To revel in the funk.

Art and design benefit largely from the use of negative space. A moment for the eye to rest. A calm balance to the dynamic elements. Could I find the positive within this negative space of not doing?

I didn’t know it would take another three weeks for the idea to finally emerge.

I also didn’t know that it would become the most calming, meditative and nurturing painting experience I’ve had to date.

Negative space. Negative?

There’s nothing negative in negative space.

61x41
Oil and Acrylic on Linen

I recently watched a video on portrait oil paintings where the instructor encouraged Artists to begin, and continue, their work using as few brushstrokes as possible. This stood in direct contrast, I realized, to how I paint: hundreds of tiny brushes, thousands of tiny brushstrokes used in a single painting. I wanted to try it, to experience the opposite of the familiar. I dug around and found my widest oil brush (it hadn’t even been used before, no surprise), mixed a variety of greens together, and began to cover as much ground, with as few movements. To my surprise, it only took a few strokes to cover each leaf.

Where else could I paint with a wider brush? Where else could I benefit from less movement?

Now that I’m unlearning and deconditioning from perfectionism, why is there still a need to overfunction? Might I, and even others, benefit from me in fact, doing less? Are my efforts to help, to plan, to fix, to perform often superfluous? And worse, are they often an interference? Could they not only be blocking my flow, but the flow of those around me?

One of the most intriguing parts of the Monstera plant are the holes it intentionally contains. I’ve watched these plants during trips to Mexico and Costa Rica, allowing water to flow through their leaves, wind to blow freely through, and sun to reach their lowest stems.

To me, they summarize flow.

I’ve experienced flow before; a flow state while painting, or gardening, or running. What would it be like though to experience flow when I’m not in creative or physical pursuits? What if my being could operate, exist in a consistent state of flow?

The former - always present? - engineer in me started visualizing flow; visualizing current, voltage, power. Visualizing Ohm’s Law. Ohm’s Law states that V= IR. Voltage equals Current times Resistance.

Current - let’s call this flow - is inversely proportional to resistance. If the resistance is higher, the current is lower. If my resistance is higher, my flow gets blocked. As I lower my resistance, I get more flow.

So what am I resisting?

Control. Or rather, letting go of control. This is a tough one for me. Releasing control requires a great deal of trust. Of releasing the outcome and replacing it with confidence in the ability to flow.

As I work to let go of control, I’m experimenting with shifting from: action, doing, giving, analyzing, decision making, figuring out, solving, fixing, planning, leading, achieving, accomplishing, organizing, initiating

towards: feeling, expressing, intuiting, being, following, allowing, receiving, sensing, creating, experiencing, trusting… flowing.

31x41
Acrylic, Cut Canvas and Thread on Canvas


I set out to make a piece about our empowerment. Of our voice, of the innate and majestic force within. I began with a careful plan. I measured, I constructed, I painted within the lines.

But as I did, the very force I painted about, started to wreak havoc. First on my body, my hormones, and soon on my mind.

Unannounced and greatly uninvited, it arrives every month, but yet I forget. Forget to armor myself, to prepare, to game plan before the fight.

The intrusive thoughts now on loop - you’re small, you’re weak, you’re incapable, you’re bad. A bad mother, wife, daughter, friend, artist, a bad woman.

Sadly alternating with angrily, I listen, and worse I follow. I act out on those that love me most, including myself. I believe the thoughts and start tearing down all the beauty I’ve built around me.

I looked then at my painting with all its perfect and intentional marks, and suddenly it mocked me, laughing at all the imperfections I believed existed in myself, in my life.

So I painted over it, craving a clean slate, a more honest slate. I then picked up my pen and drew. A single, continuous, unplanned line with curves and bends meandering through symbols of strength, and beauty and perseverance.

My heart pounded as I then drew the 28 days, the 28 chances to see myself more clearly. My mind fought back, telling me the lines must be perfect; that perfection on my canvas will manifest perfection in my life. But I ignored it this time, my hand wobbling, my lines wiggling, the canvas filling with the mistakes and magic of anything done by hand. Perfect in her imperfections.

She speaks louder now than my mind, her voice clear and confident. To trust my value is based beyond productivity or perfection. That some days will be clouded, my shine hidden but always present underneath. “Even in all of it’s phases, the moon is still whole.” Even in my imperfection, I’m perfect.

24x24
Acrylic on Canvas


What would it look like to be a person that knows how to self-soothe?

To trade in the large inconsistent bursts of dopamine - a flooding of the senses - for the reliable hum of the small, the quiet, the subtle?

To savor a moment – of stillness, of calm, of lightness – for our conscious nourishment.

To question the formula of how we’re supposed to unwind, in search of our personal restoration and collective liberation.

A courage to take the edge on, to sit in it, with it.

To no longer hide from our triggers, but to seek their release.

To shift from purveyors of the grand, to masters of the subtle.

24x24
Acrylic on Canvas

Thank you. I love you. I’m sorry. I forgive you.

We take four steps, to evict our past challenges from their residence in our minds. Making room for the best to come.

To reconcile, to look from all four corners. To imagine their best intention, and to forgive our worst.

To know each new challenge requires we practice again.

Thank you. I love you. I’m sorry. I forgive you. I forgive me.

Grounded in letting go; soaring with rainbows.

24x24
Acrylic and Thread on Canvas


I began dividing the alphabet around four sides, 6 letters each, with two remaining – the A and the Z. Their omission suddenly became the point.

I move now into the meandering, making room for the messy, mustering my inner momentum.

Relishing the path, its process and all its turns.

Weaving a way forward; never back to where I started.

Releasing the destination, the perfect ending, the clean finish.

The goal no longer the A to Z, but everything in between.

24x24
Acrylic on Canvas


His little fingers gracefully push the keys, a succession of notes form his favorite song. In celebration he dabs.

My curiosity as high as his notes. He teaches. My fingers ungracefully push the keys. In celebration I remark how fab.

24x24
Mixed Media on Wood Panel


My favorite tool in the box. A panacea for anything out of sorts.

But suddenly it doesn’t seem to soothe.

Things are starting to feel a little bit off.

Off balance, off center, off course, off kilter.

Perhaps off is ok.

Perhaps the path isn’t polished and perfect isn’t progress.

Maybe askew is more accepting.

Maybe there’s right in the little bit of wrong.

Maybe that’s how I level up.

24x24
Acrylic on Canvas


Free from what I was as a child, what I was last week. Free to be me.

Internal belonging; acceptance of the external.

Untangled, bright. No goal but to Be.

30x30
Acrylic and Resin on Wood Panel


How do you be an Artist?

Unsurprisingly, kids get it right without hesitation. Their ability to simplify, to see the big wide open beautiful picture that we somehow lost sight of decades ago.

Only three steps -

#1: Pay Attention to Details

#2: Follow Your Curiosities

#3: Play

Refreshingly simple, you’ll notice you’re already doing them.

Because you’re already an Artist.

37x37
Acrylic on Canvas

She didn’t have time to think about them anymore. To compare them, to judge them, to feel they were anything less than gems.

Enough about their size and symmetry, their roundness and softness, their perkiness and all their lack thereof.

Enough with straps pulling and hooks pushing, wires digging and cups spilling.

Enough worrying when walking into a cold room, or lamenting their post-nursing change. Enough having too much or never enough.

Enough with trying to make them look their best, rather than trying to feel her best.

So instead she thinks about support. How to best support her body, so she can better support her goals.

To be comfortable in her breasts, and bolder in her quest.

Her boulders not the ones she carries, but the ones she seeks to climb.

48x48 (round)
Mixed media on custom wood panel, coated in resin

As I entered the labyrinth, I easily spotted the destination. The goal straight ahead. Until my foot bumped into the rocks, and I was guided in a different direction.

Soon I noticed I was moving further and further away from the center. I wondered if the path had been damaged, or if I had taken a mistep. If I’m supposed to get there, why am I so far out here?

Challenges, often a pendulum that swing me out far from where I want to go. Anytime anger makes its presence known, or jealousy, or fear, or pain, or insecurity, or tendencies to isolate and withdraw; a temporary safety in their protection, but clear they’re not for keeping.

The pain at the perimeter is purposeful though. A nudge to listen for who’s asking for attention. My inner child, or a younger version of myself. Their experiences not yet resolved, not yet attended to. Their needs covered by aging versions of myself. But their layers, like rings of a tree, are the foundation.

The child that tried to be perfect and pleasing to help manage other’s emotions; the girl who wanted to fit in in a small southern town despite being a first-generation American; the young woman that made herself and her dreams small even though she wanted to take up space.

The labyrinth’s perimeter, although far from center, offered an all-encompassing vantage point. Calming my doubts of the path, of my sel(f)ves, I continued walking with trust I'd connect with the center at the right time. With the woman, the person, the essence that is the mother to her child self, and her own unconditional source of love and worth.

Upon arriving I relished it’s comforting cocoon. Held, within.

Later turning to leave, I realized there was no direct exit. The path I just traversed, I must walk again.

Anew.

The way out, is in.

31x35x8 (hexagon)
Acrylic on 3D custom wood wall sculpture

The outside, sanded, painted and complete, I began painting the interior of the hexagon along with a backplate for the work.

The whole time I kept reminding myself I’d hardly be able to see all this work in the finished piece. It didn’t seem to matter though. I decided to take my time with each color, with each set of fine lines. That these vibrant sections existed underneath, inside - even though ultimately they’d barely be visible from the outside - became the whole point.

49x56 (5 panels)
Acrylic on custom wood panels

On more than one occasion I’ve jokingly (not jokingly) asked my therapist “can you please just tell me the answer?”The last time I did, she handed me this:

“You are so young, so much before all beginning, and I would like to beg you, dear Sir, as well as I can, to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.” --Rainer Maria Rilke, from "Letters to a Young Poet"

Damn. But I hear you. I began sketching.

The way a question mark could flow it’s way into an exclamation point landed with me.

An exclamation point, a clear symbol of a eureka moment, a question answered. A question living it’s way into the answer.

72x25 (hexaptych)
Acrylic and Resin on Custom Wood Panels

Consistent.

The word I picked in January to be the focus of my year. To be consistent - to continually show up for my personal pillars. It’s importance and impact I didn’t grasp until the later part of last year. When I actively put in effort towards my family, my health, my creativity and my business, they get better; when I don’t, they decline.

Why do some areas feel harder to grow in than others? Why does my willpower come through for some goals but disappears for the rest?

In his book, Atomic Habits, James Clear shines a light on our willpower and our habits. It’s not a lack of willpower, but how these - for me, many bad - habits have been engrained in our brain over the years. When we set new goals - while we can make great progress at the beginning - we often don’t experience the quick gains we hoped to see. We get discouraged, landing in what he calls “the valley of disappointment”, and we give up.

Instead he encourages us to keep it simple. To focus our efforts towards simply improving 1% each day. In mathematical terms: 1.01^365.

We are not weak. We are also not stuck or stagnant. We can chart new pathways with a single action, which soon become single consistent actions.

What does it look like when we improve an area of our lives incrementally by 1%? It adds up. Big.

To see the process and read the full story behind this work visit Art Letters

44 x 32 Diptych
Acrylic and Resin on Wood Panels

Ever since I came across this line in a book, I’ve been watching for it everywhere.

“Validation is for parking.”

Only for parking?

I started listening for all the times it comes up. For me, for others. All the instances looking externally for reassurance, for confidence, for validation.

From the parent, the child, the spouse, the sibling. From the best friend, the boss, the neighbor, the stranger.

The acknowledgment I wanted to hear, the compliment, the kudos. The approval, the comfort, the celebration. The likes, the love.

Could it all be my own to give out?

Whatever I wished was said by others, could be said by me, to me.

Validation - no one else’s authority to administer or ability to assign; simply, powerfully - my own.

Valid comes out of hiding now as Insecure takes his leave. She’s greeted by Self-Soothing and Confidence. Hugged by Hope and Optimism. The party I’ve always wanted to attend. The invite I didn’t realize mine to send.

30x20
Acrylic and Resin on Custom Wood Panel
In four color-ways

Inspired by a poem I heard recently by Donna Ashworth, recited by Harry Baker, Joy Comes Back:

when you finally realize that joy is less fireworks more firefly
less orchestra more birdsong
she will come back much more often
for joy will not fight with the fast pace of this life
she is not in the shiny or the new
she breathes in the basic
simmers in the simple
and dances in the daily to and fro
joy has been beckoning you for many a year my friend
you were just too busy doing to see
the very next time joy wraps her quiet warmth around you
as the garden embraces your weary body in its wildness
tip her a nod
she doesnt stay long
but if you are a gracious host
joy comes back

12x48x8
Acrylic on Custom Wood Wall Sculpture

If you could pick one song to paint about, which would it be?

This question fired me up and equally sent me into analyzation overload. I often use song lyrics to title paintings and am consistently amazed how the intricacies of making a song parallels making a painting. The Miller Gallery asked each of it’s Artists to choose one song, and paint about it.

Ultimately, it hit me when this gem resurfaced on a long drive. I remember listening to it on tape with my parents, and years later on CD in my first car. Immediate stirring. Clear yes.

Fleetwood Mac’s “The Chain”

What cycles have I been working to break away from?

What ran in my ancestry until it ran into me?

Adam Grant discusses the difference between being good ancestors vs dutiful descendants. He shares, the responsibility of each generation is not to please their predecessors, but to improve things for the future.

85x24
Acrylic and Resin on Custom Wood Panel

If two Italians were walking on one side of the road and saw something appealing on the other side one would say “attraversiamo” which literally means “let’s cross over”.

It immediately became the goal. The next right thing.

I feel ready.

Ready to integrate the past, ready to release, ready to walk onwards, ready to see goodness, ready to cross over and meet the expanded version of myself.

Attraversiamo.

To see the process and read the full story behind this work visit Art Letters

27x27
Acrylic, Ink and Chalk on Paper

She longs to be loved for her real self, not just when she is wearing the mask of the good girl. She longs to be loved when she disappoints you, when she is grumpy, when she is inconvenient, when she is messy, when she is confused, when she produces nothing, when she is inconsistent, when she is empty handed, when she changes her mind.

The real question is, how willing are we to love ourselves in these moments?

An excerpt from Bethany Webster, in her book Discovering the Inner Mother, piercing right through me. Not a stab but a beam of light to the parts within kept in the dark.

How willing am I to love myself even when I produce nothing? I heard the term recently of the western ‘religion of productivity’. I’d argue this applies around the globe, but definitely seen clearly in our western culture. How much we base our value - daily - on what we’ve accomplished. I’ve noticed how many times my husband and I answer “how was your day?” with notes of what we got done.

What about the days it seems impossible to accomplish, to produce? Are we not deserving of love, of inner kindness then? Might we be most in need of self love in these moments?

I heard a recommendation last week to write a letter to yourself and list all the things you love about yourself. I decided to try it, but instead via a chat with myself while taking a walk. As I started, I began listing aloud my positive qualities. By the third one, things felt off. I realized I was implicitly saying to myself ‘I love myself because I demonstrate these valuable qualities’. What about when I don’t?

So I shifted course, and went the opposite route. I started reciting my negative qualities and following each one with an ‘I love you.’ Soon the chat took the form of

I love you when you’re angry.
I love you when you’re sad.
I love when you’re uncomfortable.
I love when you’re awkward.
I love when you push too hard.
I love when you can’t let go.
I love when you’re overwhelmed.
I love when you’re lazy.
I love when you make mistakes.
I love when you make them again.
I love you even when. Especially when.

I soon became wrapped in a bubble of what felt like self acceptance. Of recognizing myself at my worst, and knowing it was still enough. That all those ‘negative’ moments are the ones where I’m most learning, most growing, most expanding. That I don’t have to do anything to be worthy of love. That I'm made of love. I am love. I will return to love.

Even when. Especially when.

I love you.

To see the process and read the full story behind this work visit Art Letters

25x31
Acrylic, Wood and Steel on Wood Panel

I make a lot of decisions and choices in a day.
Making decisions requires energy.
I make most of these decisions with my brain.
My brain has a finite amount of daily energy to make decisions.

I call it our decision bucket. The bucket starts full, and decreases towards zero as the day progresses.

Is there another way? Another source? And more importantly, is the brain the most reliable source to begin with?

“I found it near impossible just to “think” my way out of a problem, or “think” my way into a new mindset or healthier thought pattern. What changed everything for me was welcoming my body back to the conversation,” says Poppy Jamie in Happy Not Perfect.

The brain in our head is just one of our resources. Some propose there are four “brains” in our body. The brain in our head is our first brain. The second brain is our gut. The third brain is our heart. The fourth brain is our musculature.

According to different tools for understanding the mind body system - for example Enneagram or Human Design - we each have a place in our bodies best suited for our unique decision making.

Making decisions anywhere outside of my brain, is not something I'm regularly accustomed to. It confounds me that despite decades of conditioning, in addition to training and working as an engineer, that I was able to get out of my brain enough to take the risk (a calculated risk of course) to become a full time artist.

In fact, it’s perhaps only in my biggest decisions - who to partner with, whether to become a mother, whether to change careers - that I have any type of experience using something other than my brain as my most reliable resource for decision making.

What about the rest of the decisions? The daily. What would it feel like to make decisions using other parts of my body? How would I know how to listen to them? How would I decipher their message?

I began by practicing - while creating a reminder of that practice - listening to my internal energy. Starting from my gut, my womb, my sacral center - do I feel increasing waves of rising energy in response to a question? Or do I feel a weight slowly pushing down?

A compact internal energy-filled center, compass, core slowly lifting or lowering. Without judgement. Ascending or descending. Yes or no. Without interference from the mind. Without fear or worry. At this time, in this moment, is it correct for me?

Listening to. Noticing of. The inner authority.

To see the process and read the full story behind this work visit Art Letters

32x32
Oil and Acrylic on Canvas

I drew a line in the sand but the wind came. My boundary brittle with shallow roots.

My yearning to love, mowing not the grass but my flowers.

My compassion confused with childishness. My nearness confused with closeness. My soft heart confused with a soft spine.

My attempt to empathize permission to criticize. My eagerness to please outweighing my pleas. Potential a four letter word.

I wipe my eyes and the line reappears.

Love and strength no longer either/or.

Delicate and Dignified.
Empathetic and Empowered.
Peaceful and Powerful.
Sensitive and Sturdy.

A backbone strengthened by self-respect, an open heart now safe to love.

37x37
Original Acrylic Painting on Canvas

62”W x 41”H x 2.5”D Diptych
Original Acrylic Painting on Canvas

41x31
Original Acrylic Painting on Canvas

37x37
Original Acrylic Painting on Canvas

31x25
Original Acrylic Painting on Canvas

48x48
Acrylic on Canvas

That snug little safe zone, surrounded by your peeps. Everything you need to know carefully packaged. Shielded from struggle and loose ends.

Yet you seek what makes you one of a kind. What sets you apart from the pod. Your own path, exploration, discovery and trials. Rolling in delightful uncertainty as you take the leap away from home, away from comfort, towards a search that will always cradle you.

Original Available

30x40
Acrylic on Canvas

You’ve long intimidated me, yet I strive for your friendship.

There you perch so confidently in your lair, with nothing but time, and yet everything. Celebrating the conclusion of an hour, for what it held, while singing the praises of the next, for what it can become.

You hold no fear for the slow passage of time when challenges persist, nor do you lament the flight of time when happiness prevails. Your movement is constant, neutral. Both coming and going, but present.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

Your song my reminder of the plenitude of time for the things I love and your non-static nature for the things in which I’m challenged.

Whether you pass as a tortoise or a hare, you're on my side.

30x30
Acrylic on Canvas


He thought it was about getting to the end of this challenge, to move past it, to get it under his belt. The magic waiting at the end of the road and the beginning of a fresh start.

Until he sees the fresh start he yearns for actively happening with each rotation of his wheels, each step taken, each experience and lesson, traveled today.

The magic happening around him, right now, right where he is, surrounded by the thickness of insight, the lushness of acceptance and the abundance of clarity.

A promise, an outlook - of being able to operate despite knowing when he’ll reach the door, or what’s contained behind it - that he is already standing in the light, no longer just black and white, but a rainbow of possibilities, of new perspectives, of sources of relief, calm, reprieve, and immense growth.

To trust his path forward, to roll with it, one day at a time.

60x60
Acrylic on Canvas

I planted sunflower seeds with my son in March, at the beginning of the quarantine having no idea if they would yield flowers, but hopeful for their growth. He measured himself against their stalks, gradually outgrowing him, myself, and even my husband. In what felt nothing short of a kaboom moment, we recently witnessed their first blooms, radiant in the sun, full of color and light - and to me, the hope that blooms when something grows out of the simplest beginnings.

I look to them every morning while brushing my teeth, as they grow taller, more colorful, even as some weather the roughness of playful squirrels, or strong winds, or fat summer rain. Yet there they stand, my beacon that today is new, yesterday achieved, tomorrow on the horizon - and I can choose to do more than weather a new day, but to stand tall and live colorfully.

I had a strong urge to capture these blooms - my favorites being the ones that were only partially open. Half of the flower shining in bright yellow petals, and the remainder still green, growing, thoughtful yet timid. Half in its new life, half in its old. Clinging on to what it knows, the safe shell of its core, unsure if it should open itself to vulnerability - not yet knowing the sunshine awaits.

I tried numerous ways to bring these blooms to life, testing out different mediums - thread, wood, paper, but all of them felt too small for such an important presence and symbol in my life. I knew I had to go big, bringing this strong pull to express this idea, to canvas, with paint.

I started studying these personal symbols of hope. Observing the blooms very closely, I noticed the most intricate pattern inside the sunflower, spirals upon spirals, that contained miniature blooms, or florets. The bees swarming to the tiny florets contained within the sunflower. I later learned the sunflower adopts these spirals to create the highest amount of florets in a given space - florets that will attract bees to help it propagate. Creating space in our lives to attract what will help us grow and expand. The sunflower making room to fully express its magic - the true beauty, to me, not in the shiny buttery petals, but in the intricacy of its core.

As I researched these spirals more, in what came to feel very serendipitous, I learned the spirals mimic the concept I studied in engineering school - the Fibonacci spiral. That the number of spirals of florets within the sunflower also reflects the numbers in the Fibonacci sequence. The sequence simply being that each new number is created by adding the two numbers that came before. 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55 and so on.

We are this sequence. We are a sum of our days, our experiences, our journey, our story, our struggles, especially during this time, right where we are. They all have a weight and a meaning. They build towards something beautiful and connected, with purpose and even divine design. We are a culmination of each new day, moment of love shared, kindness expressed towards ourselves and others - it all adds up. The past builds towards our future. It all matters. We are building something in ourselves.

As someone struggling with meeting the changing needs of my family during this pandemic, as I'm adjusting temporarily away from full time artist to full time mom, where days start to become indistinguishable from one another - shifting my mindset to acknowledge that all the days prior are not for naught, but are building something in me, to become stronger, more resilient, more true.

The squares seen in this painting, representing the numbers in the Fibonacci sequence, start off small, 1"x1". By combining these two squares, you then get a bigger one, 2"x2". And then you add those two squares, yielding an even bigger one, and so on. These blocks, while strong and rigid in form, in contrast gradually produce a flowing spiral within, ever expanding, touching more, becoming more. A spiral created by starting from something small, and building on itself, a sum of its previous experiences, becoming something more beautiful than what existed only a short time ago. This sequence, this spiral, utilized in mathematics, statistics and science, mirrors that found in nature - from shells to pineapples, and most notably in the sunflower. A harmony and order to our lives and our experiences.

48x48
Acrylic on Canvas

Venturing into the dark, into the unknown, absent of plan or even purpose, driven towards your curiosities without promise of what they’ll become. Staring fear down again and again with the trust that sources of light will appear.

40x30
Acrylic on Canvas

If only while in the depths of challenges and discomfort, we could know where we were heading. That our path was with purpose, and intent, filled with hope of what’s to come. Choosing what we will become, no longer relying fully on the clarity of hindsight. Constructing meaning from the path, with trust in a beautiful destination.

36x36
Acrylic, Paper and Ink on Canvas

I didn’t realize I’d be revisiting so many past conversations, the ones I shared privately with pen, paper and myself. An unintended cathartic journey as I turned the pages of old journals, some with a history of more than 10 years.

Reliving pivotal events minutes before I tore pages from spines. Before I would cut them into fluttering outlines, mold them, shape them, glue them, adorn them with colorful flourishes. Their hold, their grasp suddenly less heavy, as they took new form with humble prominence.

Their wings gently weighted with the written transformations of confusion to clarity. Their bodies substantiated with circumstances created into meaning.

Their adjusted course towards positivity, light, love and hope - after venturing far from truth. Their path towards confidence in emergence despite challenges. Because of challenges. Their journey towards belief in abundance, away from fear of scarcity.

The meticulous markings upon their wings slowly opening as years passed; looser and more free, less constricted, less structured. The color of their unique ornaments molting from blue to black, timid to bold.

The questions they asked, the answers they sought from a kaleidoscope of others before they learned to hear within.

A body, a mind once made of black and white, now emboldened by color. A dynamic core fueling a path - at first in reverse flight, to review, to reframe, to find what holds truth and meaning before vibrantly seeking forward.

32x32
Acrylic on Paper, Framed in White Wood

My family portrait. Each family member - my mom, dad, brother and me - represented by a different pattern. Patterns that can mix and blend and complement and pull the beauty out of one another, and other times be at odds, standing alone, unmalleable. However unique, the four patterns bind to build a strong structure - here a series of squares - supporting one another even if loosely. The four background purple squares - the seasons our relationship moves through, always evolving, warmth breaking through the cold. Rigid but fluid, uncertain but rooted, waves and stillness, distance and closeness. A churning undercurrent of hope and love.

40x30
Acrylic on Canvas

We once were best friends. I'd fill your tidy daily nooks with plans and wishes and goals. I thrived on your structure, your clear path forward, your daily march towards productivity and imagined success. And then something changed.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
You were erased, time stopped, our pace forever altered. I mourned you at first, the cancellation of my life of busy, my self-imposed definitions of productivity and value, of progress.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
Until one day, amidst bored stillness, I came to treasure your empty corners, your clean slate, the keys to time suddenly placed in hand - to use, to fill, or to not. I stopped looking to you to define my days, and source my checkmarks. I started relishing to-don'ts over to-do's.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
But now, old friend, you poke your head out, with your alluring pastel notes, with events and plans and obligations I currently cower from. There is no returning to our kinship, nor may we continue our separation, but for now, let me rest a while longer. Before you fill my pages and speed up time, before I'm required to be anywhere but home. For today, let me fill you with nothing but my reminder to find something to sing about.

40x30
Acrylic on Canvas

You’re not ready. The timing isn’t right. Ill prepared and meagerly equipped. The questions awaiting their answers.

But you put on your big girl panties anyway. Lace up your sturdiest boots, take that first step forward. On a path. Your path.

To somewhere magical.

60x72
Acrylic on Canvas

Every time you walk by, you suddenly remember your breath. A reminder to exhale. To release energy that’s not serving you, and to inhale that which is. You recall a wish, a dream, a hope as you blow it into the wind.

SOLD

30x40
Acrylic on Canvas

Hope rises. It floats. It catches a breeze and then soars high. It’s up and to the right. Growth at an incredible pace. Positivity. Seizing opportunity. Taking a breath and a million tiny seeds taking flight. Your magic not rooted among solid ground. But blooming in mid air, mid course, on your way.

24x30
Acrylic on Canvas

He overheard a whisper that it was time to stop fighting it, and to just go with it. To let his new mode take flight in it’s uncertainty but also its possibilities. That there’s still a place for the movement and flow of his wishes, but more importantly for his stillness and acceptance.

24x30
Acrylic on Canvas

He made his home a place his own, with permission to explore his excitements and expressions, to play and think bigger than his walls. To be himself while giving imagination room to weave. His reminder with each brushstroke, to always go big.

36x24
Acrylic on Canvas

Working hard to plant what will someday ripen, their beautiful yield to be savored and enjoyed. Shared with a loved one, a friend, a confidant - gratitude for squeezing something sweet from the salt of sweat and resolve.

Two friends at ease, their time touched by a present but unseen sun, casting shadows as big as their effort.

Their focus not on what lies ahead, but rather what is at hand, of this moment. Their desire to be together, to share, to celebrate the present abundance, to rest, to balance the inner warmth of hard work with the refreshing chill of life freshly squeezed.

48x36
Acrylic on Canvas

About a year ago, I came across these words from Rumi - “Be a lamp, or a lifeboat, or a ladder…”. In this painting, the gnome is stopping in his shed to consider which of these three tools he shall set out with on his day. As I’ve been painting this work, I’ve been talking with my son how each of these symbols and mindsets embodies the kindness and compassion we can share with others throughout our day and our lives.

As I look at my own family, I see the roles we each take on, how we become one or more of these tools for one another: a lamp - a source of light, truth and optimism; a lifeboat - a feeling of safety, protection and comfort; a ladder - an aid to growth, learning and development. I see how these roles shift daily, and extend beyond our family into our community.

As I was working on the more detailed meticulous elements of this painting, I noticed some of my past perfectionistic tendencies creeping in. It occurred to me then, that kindness and compassion can point externally but also internally as well; that I can become my own lamp, lifeboat and ladder. Which of these tools might I reach for, to arm myself with each day, to exhibit kindness and compassion towards others, but also towards myself? That shift in mindset opened me up to continue forward with feelings of calm, safety and joy.

"Be kind whenever possible. It is always possible." Our shed will always be equipped with the tools we need. To help others, and to help ourselves.

24x30
Acrylic on Canvas


How often I worry about little things, the big things and especially the things I can not control.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
I gear up, to shield myself from the rain, from pain, from challenges and difficulties, as if worrying will prohibit them from happening.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
But what if this worry impedes what’s actually intended for me? Abundance, a flurry of positive energy trying to break through, waiting to land.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
Perhaps now I'll step out, let down my armor of worry, and become ready to receive. To expand my capacity for experiencing positive energy. To begin the shift from worry to flurry.

48x48
Acrylic on Canvas

The movement of an extraordinary scarf free in the wind, a butterfly gently nudged forward on its path. A gust granting life into a sail, a child’s kite fueled by the breath of laughter. A balloon a vibrant spec receding into the clouds, a dandelion releasing its wishes. A ladybug in search of even greater beauty, a pinwheel whirling from a soulful exhale. A moment to pause. To release a simple yet intentional breath, setting magic into motion.

* * *

It’s my vivid and colorful dream to someday have my painting turned into an Hermes scarf. In the meantime, I’ve designed my very own scarves!

48x48
Acrylic on Canvas

The music doesn’t care that you’re rocking two left feet. That you’re off rhythm.
All those people watching, just trying to catch a glimmer of you, doing you, transporting to somewhere full of life, sound and color. Keep swaying those hips to your own rhythm. Marching those feet to the beat of your own drum.

48x48
Acrylic and Mixed Media on Canvas
Framed in Acrylic Box

The eyes have it. The eyes that are open, attuned, perceptive to details, to splendor in unusual places. That see beyond what is tangible, towards something ill-defined, lacking a name. That recognize abundance amidst absence, magic in the mundane. Beauty waiting to be held.

48x48
Acrylic on Canvas

My son and I recently took a trip to the zoo and I was so drawn to the mandril exhibit. As we’re walking up to him I was kind of disappointed because the mandril had his back to us. But then he stood up and revealed the most magnificently colored butt! I laughed thinking he really wants me to see what he thinks is special about himself, what makes him unique.

It inspired me to think about what we see when we look in the mirror - what is the reflection that we’re trying to project? What is that sassy, colorful, joyful edge to us that we want others to experience about us, and more importantly what we want to experience for ourselves? To tap into our true light and our true joy!

48x48
Acrylic on Canvas

Holding loose the delicate strings bearing heavy things. Active in effort to attract desires while willingly waiting their landing. Flexible in approach, steadfast in the wish.

48x48
Acrylic on Canvas

A time in my life where I only wore dark solids, an effort to blend in somewhere I only wished I could stand out. Yearning for a move to pattern, to color, to a life saturated with joy. Life now, no longer neutral or muted. Vibrancy ringing loud pops of color. Hues colliding to build something more true, more sturdy and solid. A wish always to be solid, but never a solid.

48x48
Acrylic on Canvas

The ones who question but listen. Who seek but don’t hide. Who explore, without a map. Who search answers that will never be spelled out. Who paint their story with imperfect tools. Who know the palette is meant to get messy, that layers create depth. Who see the journey as the masterpiece. Who know their story makes them dope as f*ck.

48x30 Diptych
Acrylic on Canvas

I started off making this piece about me and the voices and languages I grew up with - English mixed with the native languages of my parents - Farsi and Croatian.

I largely strayed from that original vision, to a painting that has no words, no voice, no language or borders.

The nightingale, a surprise I seemed destined to find - coincidentally serves as the national bird of both my parents’ countries - Croatia and Iran.

So tell me, sweet nightingale, what is it that you want to sing? Something uniquely yours, bigger than your tiny frame, something not loud in decibels, but in spirit? Not the black and white of pen to paper or keys to screen, but the volume of full color; the meaning not always clear yet largely apparent.

Has this song been in you the entire time, or only once you journeyed to the precipice?

Will anyone hear your song? Or see it? Is it for anyone, or only you? Does it float, or will it land? Is it static or does it evolve?

Your song double-sided - two colors at once - simultaneously dark and light, warm and cool.

Your language alone. Your desire to communicate despite the barriers, despite the lack of fluency. Fluent in color and beauty, expression, to your inner compass and the pursuit of hope.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

36x72
Acrylic on Canvas

In recent months I’ve come to recognize and accept the simultaneous presence and balance of both light and dark. I am in constant pursuit of “light” - taking forms such as joy, balance, success, calm, clarity, connection or hope - but often forget that the “dark” - in the forms of fear, sadness, failure, challenges, anxiety, impatience or imbalance - are very much a natural part of our journey and a necessary element for growth. The dark provides a sharp contrast and balance to the light, making the light more relevant, apparent and appreciated. The light of a candle would be less vivid if it weren’t for the presence of the dark. ⠀⠀

In this piece the sunbeam illuminates portions of the room and the flower, and leaves other areas in shadow or darkness. We can be in both at the same time. We can also trust or anticipate that the light (and subsequently the dark) will move and flow - throughout our day, and our lives. Neither is fixed or permanent. Like our pursuit of balance, it is in constant movement. ⠀⠀

The crisp, structured lines of the wallpaper is contrasted by the unpredictability and unevenness of the crack that appears on the floor. Something undesirable, such as the crack, can yield something beautiful, here the tulip. ⠀

In this piece, the stem of the flower grows out of the darkened side of the painting, while the flower emerges in the light. Beauty and balance in our trials and our overcoming of them.

24x30
Acrylic and Chalk on Canvas

She sent me an article, that caught me. Caught while it gently held me right in the space it described - the liminal space:

“The word “liminal” comes from the Latin root, limen, which means “threshold. The liminal space is the “crossing over” space – a space where you have left something behind, yet you are not yet fully in something else. It’s a transition space.

The threshold space becomes a liminal space when, for whatever reason, you feel caught. Much as you might like to move on, you realize that something is going on inside, and you can’t hurry the process. It will take as long as it takes.

The liminal space is a waiting space. You could land here for any number of reasons. Perhaps a particular event or circumstance has interrupted the life you were living and now everything is up in the air. Or maybe something is unfolding around you that will have a significant impact on your next steps, yet you have no control over that circumstance and its timing. Or perhaps you are clear about your next steps, yet somehow you sense that now is not the time to take those steps. And you don’t know when the right time will come.

The liminal space can bring us face-to-face with our inner fears about who we are, how we show up in the world, our strengths and vulnerabilities, and our successes and disappointments. It can cause us to question the very core of our beliefs, practices, and identities.

Herein lies the power and the gift of the liminal space. The liminal space shakes us out of our habitual lives. It draws us out of what we have known, yet does not allow us to know what is coming next, or when. It’s the chrysalis stage for the caterpillar. The caterpillar may instinctively know from its genetic programing that it must weave itself a cocoon, yet it probably has no conscious sense of why, for how long it will be there, or what will happen in the cocoon. In a similar way, we may instinctively weave ourselves into a liminal cocoon, yet at first, not even be aware that we have drawn this space around us, or know why it’s important to be here.

The liminal space is an invitation to surrender – an invitation to give over to something larger than self and trust that we will be held and supported with whatever we need in order to navigate the uncertainty. The degree to which we are comfortable or uncomfortable has to do with how we choose to be with what is happening. We can choose to fight against the liminal space and struggle, or to flow with it by listening, sensing, and responding.

Transformation happens when we are not in charge. It can’t happen when we are holding on to control. Sometimes we need to be shaken loose from our foundations in order to be open for something bigger. This is the space where a new reality can be born. It’s a space where we can finally let go of an approach, a way of being, a role, an identity, or a belief, so that something new can be created.

Landing in a liminal space from time to time is essential for our own transformation and evolution. Although it may not be obvious at first, the liminal space has an agenda for us. And that agenda is usually about letting something dissolve so that we can then discover the next iteration of our lives that is waiting for us.

I’ve heard people describe liminal space as “crazy time.” When you don’t understand what a liminal space is, or that you have landed here for a reason, it can indeed feel like “crazy time.” Yet if you are willing to listen, sense, and feel what is waiting for you in this space – if you are willing to let go of control and surrender to a greater potential waiting to unfold – the shifts in awareness and personal transformation can be enormous.

Every time I have landed in a liminal space and have chosen to flow with it, it has become a turning point in my life. It’s definitely a practice, and I won’t sugarcoat it and say it’s always easy. It takes focus and intention. Having an established reflective practice and the diligence and fortitude to stick with it helps. Yet the more I trust the flow and evolution of my own life path and work with it instead of fight against it, the more I know Blaise Pascal’s words to be true:

Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known.” - Alan Seale

36x36
Acrylic on Canvas

We can. We are. We will continue to. 

48x48
Acrylic and Pinwheels(!) on Canvas

What does it look like when a plan doesn't pan out? After weeks of working on a new piece, I decided to paint over it in an act of defiance that was refreshingly freeing. Opting for play over perfection. Each time I walk by, I spin a pinwheel, and remind myself that its ok, and sometimes beneficial, to make mistakes. That there's still beauty ahead, magic waiting on the other side of fear. 

48x72
Acrylic on Canvas

The dichotomy of rain.

Praying to the rain gods to protect the crop. To spare our perfectly manicured green lawn from the brutal summer sun. Craving a reprieve from self-expected productivity as you cozy up indoors for a lazy rainy day.

And yet we pray that the rain clears on our wedding day, that the clouds will pass before the parade. That our plans stay intact for summer grilling by the pool.

Light or dark? Relief or frustration?

Maybe just a chance to get out your cutest umbrella. To sing. To laugh even as your shield falls short and you stand soaked in joyful acceptance.

The rainbow has long been a symbol of hope, resiliency, of the beauty that can come after the rain.

In celebration and gratitude of the courageous communities that continue to shower their vibrancy on my life.

36x36
Acrylic on Canvas

10 years ago my Dad and I went adventuring in Costa Rica, fueled by my love of butterflies. While spending hours in a butterfly conservatory, I was determined to capture the perfect photo of my most favorite creature, the vivid Blue Morpho Butterfly. To my dismay, the little punks would constantly close their wings just at the moment I snapped the photo, revealing a less exciting dull brown color with many eyespots for camo. Not the magic photos are made of. It took me over 100 tries to finally catch him in his blue iridescent glory.

Getting comfortable with the dull brown spots in our day makes the catch of something vivid and beautiful so much more thrilling.

36x36
Acrylic on Canvas

A cactus so magical it blooms only one day a year. A tiny cactus for each day of the year reminds us to savor beauty - even in small doses - whenever it pops up. Some things are just worth waiting for.

16x20
Gouache and Ink on Paper

She's a Unicorn. The woman who knows every word to the songs that no one can ever quite decipher. She loves Radiohead so much, she'll stand in line all day to get the coveted spot closest to the stage, so Thom can hear her singing his words. She'll do it all again the next day to hear a completely new set of songs, and he'll play her favorite, and she will melt. But not her lipstick. She's got a shade suited to each song, each mood, each feeling. She's the most beautiful song in my head.

30x35
Gouache on Paper

Growth’s road an ungraceful path.
Flaws a three-way mirror’s reflections.
His fault. Mine. Spider-Man pointing at Spider-Man.
Shoulders shifting shame, distributing blame.
A weighted blanket without its comfort.
Forget, maybe with time. Forgive, the burden mine.
Growth’s road a grace-filled path.
To forgive him.
To forgive myself.

14x18
Gouache on Paper

If opportunity doesn't knock, build a door. Preferably the really bright, colorful and delightfully in-your-face kind.

36x48
Acrylic on Canvas

A nod to my Eastern European heritage, these strong, sturdy women encompass the joy of play and the wisdom of age. A set of nesting dolls that graced our shelves while I was growing up, were one of the first toys my son gravitated towards. They remind me of how we are filled with layers, new forms and versions of ourselves always coming to life as we dig a little deeper.

30x40
Acrylic on Canvas

Inspired by the intricate Persian rugs that have been in my family for decades (and what I imagine they get up to when we go to sleep at night). 

48x36
Mixed Media on Canvas

Oh Llary the Llama! Always into antics, like wardrobe changes of his saddle blanket. If you're going to carry a load, might as well make it more fabulous with some colorful flair.