From the Studio: Why I Paint
In the article “Build Your Artistic Brand” by Angie Ishak, featured in the second edition of the Sunshine Coast Arts Magazine, Angie asked artists some great questions to help them think about what defines their personal brand. I found her approach really inspiring and used those same questions to shape my own vision and art statement.
Every painting I create begins as a quiet conversation with the unknown. I pour colour the way some people pray — with both surrender and intention — trusting that the layers will reveal something true, something that can’t be spoken any other way. My art isn’t about control; it’s about allowing beauty to unfold through movement, intuition, and light.
Art came to me during a time when I was learning to trust myself again. I’d always been drawn to colour, texture, and the play of reflection on water — but it wasn’t until I picked up my first bottle of acrylic paint that I felt the rush of coming home. Pouring became my meditation. It was messy, unpredictable, and magical — exactly like life itself.
I create because it centers me. Painting is how I process the world — its chaos, its grace, and its quiet, shimmering moments. When someone stands before one of my pieces and tells me it reminds them of the ocean, a dream, or their own inner calm, I know we’ve shared something sacred. My deepest intention is to offer beauty that helps people breathe a little slower, to reconnect them with wonder and peace.
Every artwork has taught me to let go. There’s a spiritual rhythm to pouring — the paint takes on its own life, and you can’t fight it. The more I tried to control outcomes, the less alive the art became. Over the years, I’ve learned that true creativity blossoms when you release expectations and simply respond to what appears.
Nature is my greatest muse: the ebb and flow of the tide, the shimmer of light under water, the quiet pulse of the earth. Acrylic and mixed media are my playground — layers, conditioners, and techniques that bring movement and luminosity. Each piece becomes a metaphor for allowing, releasing, and trusting that what emerges will be enough.
Everything I experience — travel, family, community, healing — seeps into my art. My journey through breast implant illness and back to wholeness reminded me that art is not separate from life; it is life. Every pour is a reminder of resilience, love, and renewal.
Creating art is a solo act, but sharing it is a conversation. I’m grateful for every person who connects with my work — for every heart that pauses long enough to see themselves reflected in colour and light. My art isn’t just something I make; it’s something I live.