Painting has always been my way of making sense of the world. Back in school, I would linger long after art class, lost in paints, canvases, the scent of acrylics filling the air, and The Cranberries playing softly in the background. It was my refuge, a space where emotions took shape before I even had the words to define them. I had no idea then that I was unknowingly building a language I’d never stop speaking. Even now, it’s how I quiet the noise around me.

Every painting starts with a feeling, sometimes heavy, sometimes light. I love mixing things that don’t seem to belong together. My art is emotional, playful, quirky, a little raw, and unapologetic. I like blending unexpected colours with contradictory sentiments, like bubblegum pink softening crying eyes. It’s my way of tweaking emotions, creating a bit of shock, and carving out space for cheekiness, like a delicate flower growing in concrete. That’s how it all started, just me, a brush, acrylics, and a chaotic reality that pushed me to paint a new one, one I could escape into. Turns out, I never left.

Honest, messy, and a little childlike, my work always carries a bit of sweetness in the discomfort, lightness in the heavy, and surprise in the ordinary. I like to think my paintings hold that same contradiction: raw but tender, simple but full of meaning.

We all need that sometimes. And maybe your walls do too.