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For years, my creative process was overshadowed by the pressure of the end result. As a child, I filled my schedule with art classes, but I avoided technical or representational courses, intimidated by the idea of being measured against an objective standard. Afraid of not being good enough, not accurate enough, not liked enough, I unknowingly clipped my creative wings.
But years later, well into adulthood, something in me changed, shifted… realigned.
I don't think I can give credit to just a single catalyst.
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Maybe my long-standing corporate career, the quiet awareness of middle age creeping up, undoubtedly the experience of motherhood played a big role. But regardless of the cause, I had changed, I let go of what was holding me back.
I stopped seeing my work through the imagined eyes of observers. I stopped measuring it against an assumed approval. The outcome was no longer the point. The practice of making, of showing up, experimenting, playing, and problem solving, became the purpose.
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Today, I move between mediums. Some processes are quiet and deliberate; others are loud, chaotic, and frustrating. Each demands imagination, problem-solving, and patience. My paintings and illustrations often turn toward nature: flowers, animals, insects and the occasional strange fish-head. With my Foundry Flowers I am drawn to materials with history: discarded metal, overlooked objects, common items used in an unexpected way. There’s something satisfying about giving new presence to what might otherwise be dismissed.
No matter the medium, at the intersection of pretty and weird is usually where my work lands, and where contrast becomes the point.
