I’m surrounded by originals.
Some unfinished.
Some ready to be sealed.
And there’s a moment that comes with that…
where I have to say—
this is done.
This is finished.
This is ready to part ways.
That part isn’t always easy.
Because my art isn’t just shapes and forms, light and shadow.
They are pieces of my story.
A visual narration of emotions felt, carried, and worn.
Sometimes I don’t know what to do with them.
Sometimes I just sit with them—
with the feeling of what I was,
what I am,
and who I am becoming day by day.
At times they feel like fragments swirling above my head…
a remembrance,
a curiosity.
I’ve always wanted to understand the things I don’t know.
And sometimes that becomes overwhelming—
being so aware.
Not just aware of myself,
but of others too.
What they feel… I feel parts of it.
I carry it.
But I’m learning something different now.
I’m okay with the self.
I’m okay with not knowing.
I’m okay with just being.
There was a time when fear consumed me—
rooted in trauma, in loss, in trying to make sense of everything before it even happened.
But I think I’m growing into a different place.
A place of being here.
Now.
Not living in the past,
not reaching too far into the future.
Just here.
Because when it comes down to it—
this moment is the only place I actually have any control.
And maybe that’s what this process is teaching me too.
To let the work be what it is.
To let it exist without needing to hold onto it.
To recognize when it’s time to release it—
not because I’ve figured everything out…
but because it already holds what it needed to.
