Spring Break

When I was little, my dad called me his "little princess," and my mom dressed me in an endless sea-closet of pink, with eyelet fabric everywhere—so much eyelet. I was a capital-G Girl, and they both shaped me according to their own personal narratives and their very specific rules: the way I should behave, the way I should look—always ladylike, always proper.

When I grew to develop my own opinions (and push back against theirs) I started to understand their unspoken boundaries: my birth sex and their encumbrances predetermined what is acceptable, and straying from this might embarrass them. So I, like so many others, unconsciously conformed. But all of those cravings to be true to myself were always there.

Each time I defied those norms, it felt like I was setting off a little rebellion. Some moments were small—like a gentle thud—but others were full-blown explosions, shattering everything around them. I wanted the world to see me for who I really was, not who they thought I should be.

Painting is the most honest and significant way that I have been able to dig into my life and express my own personal contradictions of varying levels of intensity: of love and anger, hope and disappointment, joy and frustration, pain and humor. With every stroke, I am making a statement, even if I don't always have the words to verbalize it.

Through many beautiful, deep, intimate, and compassionate friendships—I’ve realized that we all carry these hidden longings, these silent struggles. Deciding who someone is before truly understanding their authentic story is as pointless as looking at one of my paintings and assuming you know exactly what's behind it. My hope is that when you look at the pieces I create, when you meet someone new, you don’t jump to conclusions.

It might take a little more effort to dig a little deeper and see beyond the surface, but I've learned that the reward is worth it. Showing kindness and grace has brought so much color and beauty into my life.