Ever since I can remember, art has been the center of my world. As a child, it wasn’t just a hobby—it was my language, my joy, my escape. I could (and often did spend entire days drawing, doodling, and creating. If there was a surface to draw on, l’d find it. If there was a tool to make marks with, I’d use it. Dirt, sand, sticks, clay, glass-anything could become part of my creative playground.
I didn’t need fancy supplies or a studio. My imagination was enough. Back then, I didn’t know what being an “artist” meant professionally-I just knew that making art made me feel alive. And honestly, not much has changed.
As I’ve grown older, my relationship with art has evolved. It’s no longer just childlike play; it’s become my career, my purpose, and still, my passion. Creating is how I process the world around me. It’s how I express things I can’t always put into words. Art is the way I connect-with others, with myself, with something bigger.
There’s never been a moment when I seriously considered doing anything else. Not because I haven’t faced challenges (I have), and not because the path of an artist is always easy (it definitely isn’t), but because there’s nothing else that makes me feel quite as fulfilled.
keep going because I can’t not create. Because every time I pick up a brush or sketch an idea, I feel that same spark I did when I was a kid drawing in the dirt. That spark—that joy-is what keeps me rooted. It reminds me why I started, and why I’ll never stop.
