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Sometimes life breaks us open in ways we never saw coming. One day you’re standing on familiar ground, the next it’s gone — the home, the people, the version of yourself you thought was permanent. In that collapse, I found myself stripped bare. Standing in that wreckage, all I had was my art and a choice: stay broken or start building again. These works came from that ground zero.

After my life collapsed, I went underground.  I needed silence. Space to sit with myself. No noise, no distractions — just me sitting in the mess of it. It felt like exile, but I needed it. In that silence, the only thing I could do was paint. Every layer in this collection started there — in the kind of quiet that strips you bare.

Starting over isn’t glamorous. It’s messy. When your old life crumbles, you have no choice but to ask: Who am I now?  I had to figure out who I was without the safety nets. I had to back myself when no one else was clapping. To make choices without needing anyone’s approval. To take risks when everything felt uncertain. Every piece in this new collection is a declaration: I trust myself to begin again, to take risks, and I refuse to wait for permission.

Fear doesn’t disappear when you decide to be brave. It hangs around, whispering every reason to quit. There were moments I wanted to give up — to shrink, to stay invisible, to let fear win. That fight — between fear and moving forward — is what these works are all about. I’d pick up the brush, and something inside would say: Not yet. Keep going. These paintings hold that fight — the moments where fear was loud but courage spoke louder. They’re proof that you don’t have to be fearless, you just have to keep moving.

I am not who I was before. Loss and pain burned away everything that wasn’t essential.  What’s left is raw, but it’s also real — stronger, bolder, more alive. This collection isn’t about the suffering itself, but what was forged inside it: resilience, fire, freedom. It’s about what happens when you stop hiding and start claiming your own fire.

This work is deeply personal, but I believe it also belongs to you. Because we all know loss. We’ve all had to stitch ourselves back together. We all know what it feels like to start over. And we all hold the possibility of rising again. My hope is that when you stand in front of these paintings, you see a piece of your own story reflected back.